Firefly
by suz mc
Summary: When life has left you with nothing but exhaustion and pain,the unexpected and wonderful can come your way. To what lengths of denial would Dean go to hang on to it? Would Sam's search for the truth destroy it all? Dean Angst,Sam Angst,Ellen,AU,OFC
1. Chapter 1

What originally drew me to Supernatural was the brothers, the father, and the family. In the midst of pain and fear and battle, family is what SPN is all about. They have to hang on to it with their fingernails. In "Wishful Thinking" Dean said, "We are miserable and we have to fight just to hold on to what we've got." If something good came Dean's way, I think he'd fight to hold on.

This story is set four years in the future from Season 4. Life is an endless river of change, and it would be for them also.

Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think, good or bad. I'm a big girl. I can take it. VBG

Suz

Firefly – Chapter 1

By: Suz

_Austin, Texas, 2012_

_The fire screamed through her skin and she screamed back, twisting and struggling. There was no way to get free from the burning grip on her arm. The pain became part of her insides and mingled with her voice, spilling out of her mouth into the burning hot air. Red filled up her mind and body, and the agony was a wall collapsing down over her. _

"_Mamahelpmemamamamamama!" _

_Other screams joined her own. The flames moved in front of her and the pain gave way to blackness as the fireball rolled away across the room and then there was nothing but heat and silence._

*************************

"We've been having this same fight for years now and I'm about sick of it, Dean!"

Sam was tired and pissed. He reached one long arm over the backseat to retrieve his iPod where Dean had, once again, tossed it away after becoming offended by Sam's song choices.

"No fight to be had, Shotgun," Dean said, using a one-handed twist on the wheel to catch the exit. "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his—"

"Shut yours!" Sam settled back into his seat, roughly yanking his ear buds from the glove compartment. Dean was smirking at him and after a few too many hours on the road, it was enough to make Sam want to throw a punch his way.

"Dude, you want to wallow in emo slop, plug in so I don't have to suffer." Dean gave the brakes a stomp so that Sam had to slap his hand against the dash.

Red-faced, Sam shoved himself upright again as the Impala turned onto a two-lane. "I know you think you're Lord God King of the Freakin' Road, Dean, but why do you have be such an ass about it?!"

"Oh, is Widdle Sammy getting kwanky?" Dean pouted his lips at his brother. "Need a nap and a blanky?"

"Bite me."

Sam busied himself with detangling the earphone wires from a wicked knotted mess as the road got a little rougher. Truth is, he could use some sleep under a blanket on a bed. They had just finished a rough job in Georgia last night, full of blood and misery and all Sam had wanted was a bed and a few hours of sleep before hitting the road again. This job had left a few scars on both of them. Cases with dead kids were costly on the psyche and vengeful spirits were costly on the body. They'd been able to send the kids on their way, but it didn't change the fact that the kids were still dead. The only bonus had been sending the bastard who'd killed the kids in the first place on his own fiery vacation. The blast from the killer's exit had flattened them both under a pile of rubble. Angry spirits didn't go gently into that good night, especially the evil ones who got their kicks raping and murdering children.

Dean covered his residual unrest by annoying Sam. It had always been his defense mechanism as well as his favorite sport and the years hadn't changed that one bit. Four years past Hell had changed a lot of things for his big brother, but in most ways, Dean was the same as he'd been at ten, at eighteen, and at twenty-six. Introspection and examination after trauma did not fit into his M.O.

The last two days had been traumatic, especially for Dean. Those dead kids had wreaked havoc on everyone who came near them, especially Dean. He'd been locked up in the basement of an abandoned schoolhouse and treated to a play by play of each bloody murder. Kids tortured and murdered. The kids hurt and wanted an avenger and what better way to get one than to drag Dean into their pain? It was almost as if those children had been waiting specifically for him. Dean understood the pain of children and he took it personally. That child inside of Dean never let go of the sight of his mother burning on the ceiling, never let go of the night his safe, happy life disintegrated in front of him. Those dead children had tapped into that pain. Maybe they felt he was the only one who could understand their disintegrated lives and get the revenge they craved, but the way they went about it was brutal. Dean had seen a lot over the years but this was a new level of sickness. Sam knew he needed to either talk about it or, knowing Dean, block it out all together. The first option wasn't likely to happen any time soon.

It had been dumb luck when Sam tripped over Eric Maven's moldy, rotten remains in the tunnel leading to the basement. Maven's private torture chamber had become his tomb. While Dean battled Maven's angry spirit with the ghosts of all those dead children as an audience, Sam had salted and burned the murderer's remains. The kids moved on, Maven imploded into Hell, and it took the brothers three hours to climb out from under the wreckage.

They were still cleaning off dirt and bandaging wounds when Ellen called.

"Tell me again what she said," Sam asked, maneuvering the last kink from the wires.

Dean shifted stiffly behind the wheel. "She said someone left something for me at the bar, I had to get there as soon as possible to get it, it couldn't wait, and she didn't want to talk about it over the phone. Same story as the last time you asked me."

"She wouldn't say who or what?"

"Didn't give me time to ask. Just said her piece and told me to get my ass up there, so that's what I'm doing." Dean rolled down the window and let the air blow through. "She wouldn't put it that way if it wasn't important. Maybe it's a job, I don't know."

"It's been a long time," Sam said, settling the ear buds in his ears before setting the iPod to play. "Wonder what the new place looks like."

"Took her long enough to rebuild so it must really be something special," Dean answered, looking over toward Sam. "At least there will be cold beer and roadhouse girls. Personally, this dude could use some beer and roadhouse girls, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrow, trying to make light of how truly exhausted he was at the moment. "Listen to your girly music and get some sleep. You can drive when I get tired. I don't want to stop until we're halfway."

"Do I pick the music then, since you'll be shotgun?"

"Hell no!"

Sam closed his eyes and faded into his music.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Firefly – Chapter 2

By: Suz Mc

Two days was a long time to be in the car. Sam was glad to finally be in the home stretch of the trip, winding through Nebraska back roads. Dean had called Ellen twice and both times she'd refused to discuss his summons to the roadhouse. Patience wasn't his brother's strong suit so Sam hadn't bothered to argue over the nonstop driving, fast food eaten at seventy miles per hour, and Dean pounding on bathroom doors telling him to get his ass back to the car.

Sam glanced over at a snoring Dean as the Impala turned on to the bumpy county road that led to Harvelle's Roadhouse. The car bounced roughly over the poorly maintained asphalt and Dean's head vibrated against the leather seat.

"Dean," Sam called, reaching out to shake Dean's shoulder. "Get up, man. We'll be there in ten."

Opening his eyes, Dean shook his head back and forth. "Damn," he groaned. "Where are we?" He sat up, trying to peel off the sleep, then looked down at his watch. "I told you to wake me up in two hours, not three."

"God, you're such a control freak in the car."

"No, you drive like an idiot when you're sleepy and I don't want to die again." Reaching into his pocket, Dean retrieved a piece of gum and popped it into his mouth. "I need a beer and a shower, in that order."

"No kidding."

Twisting the air conditioner vent to blow on his face, Dean said, "It's going to be good to see Ellen and the new place. It's been too long."

Sam turned the car onto the long, dry gravel road that wound toward Ellen's place. "How long has it been since we saw her in Minnesota? Two years?"

"'Bout that," Dean answered, reaching out to turn on the radio. "It's gonna be weird to see another Roadhouse where the other one used to be."

Sam never saw the ruins of the original Roadhouse but he'd listened to Dean talk about the horror he and Bobby had found in the smoldering wreckage after it had burned to the ground.

The long, dry road made its last curve into the open field that held the Roadhouse. "Damn, would you look at that?" Dean said, as Sam stopped the car in a cloud of August dust.

The new building rose up into two stories in the center of the lot. An electric sign reading "Harvelle's Roadhouse" hung beside the large front door. The building was easily twice the size of the old one and had freshly minted look of brand new wood that would soon be weathered and welcoming. A long porch wrapped around the entire building and bright, clean windows looked out from the upper level onto the landscape. Another sign hung from the porch, reading "Vacancy."

"So she's in the hotel business now," Sam said, exiting the car, and trying to straighten his wrinkled shirt. "Awesome." He could almost feel the bed he'd be falling into as soon as they finished with Ellen's mysterious business.

"Roadhouse girls won't have far to go to visit Dean's Den of Sin," Dean said, slamming his door behind him. "If she doesn't have two rooms, you're sleepin' in the car, Little Brother."

Sam was already on the porch and reaching for the door when Dean caught up to him. Ellen had kept the feel of the old place with a screen door that creaked and slammed behind them. The inside of the barroom had the same fresh-from-the-lumberyard feel of the exterior. The faint smell of smoke and spilled beer was beginning to seep into the brand new wood but it had a long way to go before it smelled or felt like the watering hole it once was before demons destroyed it.

"Ellen!" Dean called out, walking around the bar to grab a beer. He twisted off the top, handed it to Sam, and pulled another for himself from the cooler. "Anybody home?!"

"You stealing my beer, Boy?" Ellen stepped through a door off the side of the main room, drying her hands on a towel.

"We're in good with the owner," Sam said, walking over to hug Ellen. "It's good to see you, Ellen."

"You, too, Sweetie," Ellen said, squeezing him tightly.

"Hey, what about me?" Dean had joined them on the other side of the bar. Opening his arms, he took his welcome hug.

"Glad to see you, too, Dean," she said against his ear. Ellen hugged him tightly and held on for a few extra seconds before letting go and stepping back to give them both a good long look. "You boys look great. Are you doing okay?"

"Life's one big Mardi Gras, like always." Dean took a long draw from his beer bottle.

"This place is amazing," Sam said, backing on to a barstool. "How long have you been open?"

Ellen looked around the room proudly. "About a month. It took me a while before I could get my head in the right place to start over but life had to go on and why shouldn't it go on here?"

"It's good you did that." Dean said, leaning against the bar. "I like it here."

"I'm glad you boys feel at home here." Ellen stood in the center of the room, looking at both of them intently. "Everyone needs a haven from time to time and I want this place to be like that. A place you can come to regroup. People like us need that, don't we?"

Sam watched Dean wait for Ellen to change the subject to their reason for coming. Ellen seemed to be nervously waiting him out, waiting for him to ask. Finally, Dean set his down his beer and pushed off the bar.

"Okay, Ellen," he started, "spill the big secret so I can get a shower and get ready for the ladies I hope will be here tonight to marvel at my pool playing and romancing skills."

Ellen stood silently for a moment and Sam watched the hesitation play across her features. She was still a nice looking woman, but there were a few more lines on her face than when they'd first met. The past few years had been rough. The fire, the Devil's Gate, the demon war, and her estrangement from her daughter had taken a toll on Ellen and it was easy to read.

"Come on, Ellen. I'm here. What's the big mystery?" Dean's voice had a slight edge of annoyance to it.

Taking in a deep breath, Ellen grabbed a seat at the bar. "You'd better sit down, Dean."

Refusing to obey, Dean rested his elbow on the edge of the counter, but didn't sit. "Why all the drama, Ellen? You're starting to make me nervous."

Ellen looked over her shoulder toward the door then back to Dean. "You should be."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Firefly – Chapter 3

By: Suz

Ellen Harvelle was usually an intensely direct woman. Sam had known her for a very long time and in every situation, good and bad, she dove in full force, nothing held back. Her hesitation to address the reason she'd summoned them half way across the country unsettled him.

"Ellen, is something wrong? Are you okay?" Sam asked, trying ease her obvious discomfort.

"I'm okay, Sam," Ellen answered, looking down at nothing then focusing on Dean. She made a visible mental leap off the ledge she'd been standing on and began. "Dean, do you know a woman named Calley Rail?"

After a few seconds of silent review, Dean replied, "No, doesn't ring a bell. Was she a case?"

"I'm not sure." Ellen walked around the bar, talking as she went. "I got a call from her a couple of weeks ago and she sounded very desperate to find you."

***

"_Dammit, Jake! The phone!" Ellen was pissed as she ran to grab the screaming telephone from behind the bar. The new help wasn't turning out to be much help at all and that phone had stopped her every time she'd gotten rolling on paperwork this afternoon. _

_Ellen jerked the receiver into her hand and couldn't stop the bite in her voice. "Harvelle's. This is Ellen."_

"_Uh, hello, is this Ellen Harvelle?" The voice was timid and shaky._

"_That's what I said," Ellen answered, annoyed at repeating herself. She took a breath and tried to be more civil. If it was a rep from one of her new suppliers, pissing off one of them on the phone probably wouldn't be her best move at this early point in the Roadhouse's new life. "Sorry, bad day. Can I help you?"_

"_Yes, ma'am, I hope so." _

_The girl on the other end of the line sounded awfully young. Ellen could hear the tremble in her voice. "Well, why don't you tell me what you need and we'll see." Ellen leaned onto the bar, letting go of her initial annoyance and giving the caller a chance to answer._

"_Uh, okay. Clip, the guy who owns Getty's in Beaumont, Texas, told me you might be able to help me find a man named Dean Winchester. Do you know him? Can you help me find him?"_

_Giving out information about other hunters was a sticky business. On one hand, you could be helping connect someone in trouble with their one and only savior. On the other hand, you could be delivering a friend into the hands of a whole lot of death. Before she popped off with that intel, Ellen would need a lot more than a simple request over the phone. Getty's was a common hunter hang out and her husband, Bill, had known Clip about a thousand years ago but that wasn't nearly enough._

"_Sweetheart, why don't we start with your name," Ellen asked, taking charge of the conversation._

"_Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Calley Rail."_

"_That's better, Calley. How is Clip?" _

"_He was really nice. I mean, I just met him when I went in and he told me you might be able to help me." _

_Well, the girl hadn't lied and said Clip was her best friend. That was a good sign. "I may know a Dean Winchester, Calley, but how do you know him and what exactly do you want with him?"_

"_It's really an emergency, Mrs. Harvelle, ma'am, I've got to find him. Please, can you help me?" The panic in her voice was rising. Ellen could hear a small break after the last word. _

"_What's the problem, Calley? Maybe I can help?"_

_The voice on the other end of the line began to cross over from desperation to hysteria. "I can't, I mean, I think he's the only one who can help me. I can't tell you. I need to find him. Everybody I've talked to says that he can help us. I only met him that once but—"_

"_Calm down, Calley," Ellen said, trying to settle the girl down. "I may be able to find him but I need a little more_

_information in case I reach him."_

_The girl ignored Ellen's request and latched on to the first part of her sentence. "Can you find him? Please, just tell me where he is and I can get there! Please!"_

_Keeping her voice calm, Ellen said, "Calley, I said I may be able to find him. Give me your number and I'll make some calls." It had been a couple of years since she'd laid eyes on either Winchester and it would take some doing to track them down. "Where exactly are you, Sweetie?"_

_There was no answer for a few seconds, only heavy, fearful breaths over the line. "I'm not sure where I'm going to be. Maybe I can find him. I'll call you back tomorrow."_

_The line went silent and Ellen gently hung up the receiver. "Dammit," she whispered, pulling out her private address book._

_****_

"She never called back." Ellen had retrieved a manila envelope from behind the bar. "It took me a while to track down your new number but when she didn't call back, I thought maybe she found you on her own."

"Dean, do you know that girl?" Sam asked, taking in his brother's confusion.

"No, I don't," Dean answered, clearly trying to remember. "Getty's? Wait, I remember that bar! You were going to Baton Rouge to see that hoodoo priestess when I was—" Dean broke off his sentence. They didn't talk much about the year before he went to hell. Dean didn't want to and Sam rarely pushed him on the subject. "I was pissed and you dropped me off in Beaumont and went on without me."

"Maybe that's where you met her," Sam said, trying to read Dean's reaction.

"Since every woman I know I met in a bar? Thanks," Dean answered, looking out into the room at no one. "But, it could be. I was pretty wasted. All I remember was waking up in some dive motel room, hung over and pissed off at you."

"Like most Sunday mornings," Sam quipped back at him.

"So, this mystery woman desperate for me never called back?" Dean asked, trying to cover his unease at dragging up memories of his own descent into desperation.

"No, she didn't," Ellen replied, her unease tangible. "But about a week ago, a friend of Calley's showed up here. Girl named Lindsey Deaton from Austin." Ellen hesitated, nervously fingering the envelope in her hand.

"Ellen, you suck at storytelling. Can we please get on with this?" Dean's frustration was growing. Sam wasn't sure if it was his impatience to get the details or embarrassment at not being able to remember how he knew this woman who'd been looking for him.

"Calley died the night after she called me," Ellen said, sadness making the lines on her face appear deeper. "Her apartment was set on fire. Lindsey found my phone number and address in Calley's car and knew she'd planned to come here the next morning."

News of anyone's death was heavy to hear. Dean was still silently struggling to remember the dead woman and seemed strangely sad to know this woman was gone.

"Ellen, is Lindsey the person who left something here for Dean? Does she think we can find who killed Calley?" Sam was reaching for the envelope and Ellen pulled it back.

"Yeah, Sam. Lindsey left this but I don't know if it can find Calley's killer. I don't know if that's the most pressing issue at this point." Ellen held out the envelope to Dean and Sam noticed the trembling paper. Whatever was about to spill from that envelope was important.

"Finally," Dean said, quickly grabbing the envelope and moving to break the seal. Finding it open, his expression changed. "Did you open this?"

"I assume Lindsey did, but I saw what's inside." In response to his angry glare, Ellen said, "It was necessary."

"So much for the freakin' right to privacy," Dean grumbled, sliding out a single blue form. Color drained from Dean's face as he read. "What the hell?"

"Dean? What does it say?" Sam got up from the barstool and walked to his brother. Dean was clearly shaken, nearly hypnotized by the page in his hand.

Dean ignored Sam's question, clutching the form and reading it over and over again. Looking over Dean's shoulder, Sam read the page and felt his brother's shock spread into his own brain.

"Is this real, Ellen?" Sam eased the page out of Dean's hand and found no resistance.

"I checked it out before I called you. It's real." Ellen stood still, watching Dean carefully for any reaction.

Silence was all he offered.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Firefly – Chapter 4

By: Suz

Dean had separated himself from Ellen and Sam. He stood with his back to the room, facing the bright, shiny new windows. Both hands clutched the windowsill and his shoulders hunched over under the load of what he'd just read.

Holding the blue form, Sam read the same words over and over. Certificate of Live Birth. Emily Claire Winchester. Born: June 3, 2008. Weight: 6 lbs. 3 oz. Time of Birth: 12:06 a.m. Mother: Callista Gabrielle Rail. Father: Dean Winchester. City of Birth: Austin, Texas.

"You're sure this is real? It's not a fake?" Sam said, staring over at his brother's back. "This kid is four years old."

"It was filed exactly the way it reads on June 4, 2008. The form is real," Ellen replied. "What's on the form needs to be checked out." She looked over at Dean's back, also.

Sam was operating on instinct at this point. Facts, he needed facts. "What did this Lindsey Deaton say happened? Why was Calley so afraid? Was someone after them?"

"Lindsey was here a total of ten minutes, tops," Ellen said, shifting her focus from Dean to Sam. "She gave me bare bones information, handed me that envelope and left. That's it."

"Ellen," Dean said, his voice suddenly shaken and hoarse, "where is the little girl who goes with that form? Was she in that—" He stopped, catching his breath and leaning his face against the glass. "Was she in that apartment? Is she dead?"

Ellen walked over to stand beside Dean at the window, her voice gentle "She was hurt but she's alive. Lindsey told me she'd gone to get Calley some cash for her trip. By the time she got back, the place was in flames and a fireman was pulling Emily out through a window. He barely got her out of there alive. In a few seconds, it would have been too late."

He closed his eyes and relaxed against the window frame. Sam was beside him now, resting a hand on his shoulder. The fact that Dean didn't shake off his touch was surprising.

"Where is she?" Dean forced his eyes open and focused on the world outside the window, not facing anyone.

"She's taking a nap on the sofa in my office," Ellen answered, leaning against the wall, waiting for Dean to face her.

Dean's reaction was sharp, a shocked breath sucked into his chest.

Ellen continued, hoping to make things easier. "I took her to a friend of mine who runs the clinic in town. He checked her over from top to bottom and except for the injuries from the fire, she's a perfectly healthy, well cared for little girl."

"That's good." Dean's reply sounded awkward and dazed, as if he couldn't express his thoughts. Keeping his eyes pointed toward the view outside, he said, "So she's right over there, in your office."

Sam squeezed his brother's shoulder, sharing his relief. He'd expected Ellen to say the child was gone. It might have been a deathblow to Dean's psyche, which had been held together with weak threads over the past few years.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam leaned in, trying to read his brother's face. It was pale and stunned as if he couldn't divert enough energy from thought to breathe.

"Uh, yeah," Dean shook himself lightly. "I'm good."

Ellen folded her arms in front of her and continued providing information. "I had them take a DNA swab from her at the clinic and now that you're here, he can get your sample and rush a test through the lab they use. Then we can find out if you're her father or not." Ellen looked back toward the door to her office.

"Okay," Dean answered, raking his hand across his face.

"She should be up soon from her nap. Why don't I go check and bring her out here so you can meet her?" Ellen waited for his response and got only a deep nod from Dean's bowed head. "There is something else you need to know about Emily before you see her. I don't want you to be caught off guard."

That drew Dean's full attention away from the afternoon sun beating against the glass. "What?"

"Emily stopped talking after the fire. Lindsey said she was a chatterbox before but not a sound since. She can't tell us what happened." Ellen watched Dean struggle through a thousand sorrowful emotions before he could summon the will to speak again. "She's wounded, Dean, physically and emotionally."

"I need to go outside for a minute." He bit out the words then stormed through the front door, Sam on his heels.

Sam barely caught the heavy wooden door before it slammed back toward his face. Dean had stormed out onto the porch, his steps pounding against the planks. His trajectory was first pointed toward the Impala. The keys were in his hands but he jerked his body to a stop on the top step. Back tracking, he began to pace back and forth across the porch.

"Dean, man, we'll figure this out," Sam said, trying to match Dean's erratic pacing.

"Figure out what, Sam?" Dean was on his second lap to the end of the railing and back. "Figure out that a woman who claimed to have my kid was burned alive? Figure out if that's the reason she's dead? Sounds like that part's already pretty plain."

"We don't know why she's dead, Dean," Sam answered, still trying to keep pace with his brother's frantic steps. "It could have been an accident."

"Bullshit!" Dean shouted. "When has it ever been a fucking accident when someone we know is burned alive? Tell me that?"

"Never." Sam couldn't argue with that logic. "We'll have to figure this out later, but right now, there's something more important to deal with. A kid. Damn, Dean, do think you could really be this kid's father?"

Dean stopped stalking over the planks and faced out into the empty dust covered parking lot. The August heat pounded against both of them. "You're gonna think I'm one stupid sonofabitch, Little Brother, because there is definitely a chance I could be this kid's father, for real."

"Wait, are you saying you remember her mother now?" Sam stood beside his brother, soaking in the blistering heat.

"No, but that year, I mean, I wasn't exactly what you'd call the poster boy for safe sex," Dean said, closing his eyes against the dust that blew up in front of them.

"You kinda had a lot on your mind, dude." Sam wanted to spare Dean some of the self-loathing his brother was already assembling.

"Nice, after I lectured you since you were fifteen about suiting up before you dove in, right?"

"What do you want to do? You tell me, and I'm behind you, Dean." Sam reached to touch Dean's shoulder again only to have him pull away.

"You know what I want to do? I want to rewind to '07 and not be such a selfish, cowardly prick that screws a bunch of women to make himself feel better. Or, how 'bout this. I want to get in that car and drive. How's that sound? Really something for a kid to look up to, right?" Dean had the keys in his hand again, clutching them to keep the metal from rattling in his shaking fingers.

"You and I both know you're not going anywhere," Sam said, staring straight at his brother.

"I know." Dean stuffed the keys back into his pocket. "But, Sammy, what do I do now? I swear to God, I don't know what to do here." The look on Dean's face was part white-knuckle fear, part shame, and part deep sorrow.

Dean was lost and looking to Sam for answers. It was a rare occurrence when Dean asked for any kind of guidance from anyone. He made his own decisions, his own choices, always. Today, things were turned upside down and Sam understood that his answer had better be the right one.

"First, you don't freak out until we know what the DNA test says. That'll tell us if you're that kid's dad or if we need to go find him. Second, you go in there and meet Emily." Sam was keeping his voice strong. It was odd to be laying out a plan for Dean to follow. "Third, let me look into this whole thing and see what I can find. We'll work it like a case, okay?" Sam watched with shock as Dean merely shook his head in agreement. "I got your back."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back in silence. After a long, deep breath, he said, "I know you do, Sammy."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Firefly – Chapter 5

By: Suz

Dean took one more deep breath, straightened his shirt, and made his way back through the heavy wooden door to find Ellen already waiting. She stood in the center of the room, and smiled at him.

_She's shocked I didn't bug out. So am I, Ellen. So am I._

Sam had followed him back into the room and had taken a seat at the bar. This was Dean's trip to make on his own.

"This is Emily," Ellen said, looking down toward her knee.

She was so small that he almost missed her standing behind Ellen's leg. One tiny hand was gripping Ellen's lightly, as if she were barely anchored in the room at all. The little girl was there physically but wide, broken eyes didn't betray much connection with anyone or anything surrounding her in the calm lighting of the empty Roadhouse.

_You stupid fuck! _

Dean felt the words pounding around in his skull as he tried to take in the unbelievable reality standing in front of him, dressed in fear and pink sneakers. Four years old. This little girl, who was supposedly his child, was four years old.

_And where were you four years ago?_ _Hell, Genius. You were in Hell._

It seemed as if time had come to a screeching halt and not one soul in the room was breathing. She was so tiny. He tried to remember if that was the normal size for a four year old and couldn't. Dean began to inventory her from top to bottom. Someone had put a ribbon in her hair to pull it back from her face but it hadn't stayed in place. Wavy brown curls were drooping down into her eyes, trailing around her cheeks and down to her shoulders. Ellen must have done that. Bright yellow t-shirt with butterflies on it. Denim shorts. Hot pink Converse. There were little bows on her socks and a large gauze bandage wrapped around her left forearm.

_  
The son of a bitch burned her, too. _

Freckles littered across her nose and cheeks stood out against pale skin. She looked up at him and the stillness of her panic reached out through the air to touch him. He knew that face and had intimate knowledge of the raging terror that could beat a child into silence. Numbness is your Fairy Godmother when you're four and fire gobbles up your mom.

Did she look like him? He wasn't sure if he truly saw what he thought he saw. When he'd met Ben Braeden all those years ago, he'd wanted to see himself in that child, too. He'd wanted to be a father to that great little boy, but he wasn't. Was he really seeing the truth here or something he'd wanted back then?

She hadn't taken her eyes off of him yet. They were big, dark brown heartbreak eyes with light blue shadows underneath. They weren't the lighthearted eyes of a little girl. They were full of pain and exhaustion and it hurt to look at them. Those ghost kids in Georgia had eyes like that, swimming in despair, desperation, and fear. Both strange and familiar at the same time, those eyes were fixed on him now, begging for some relief from the pain that had locked her up tight.

He tried hard to remember Calley Rail's face and failed miserably. Maybe that's where he'd seen those beautiful eyes because they should be unforgettable. Endless faces of endless pretty women he'd taken to bed that year flipped through his mind. He tried over and over to find one that would fit onto that little girl's face and came up empty. That year hadn't been about making connections. It had been about stuffing himself with any distraction, any sensation to tamp down his own fear. That year before he checked out of this world and into the pit wasn't his proudest moment. He'd used a lot of women. Even if they were willing, they'd been used. If Emily or her mother had a target painted on their backs, the brush was in his hand.

_You don't even remember her face. You fucking bastard. What the hell are you going to say to this kid? _

He felt like he was towering over the little girl and the longer she looked up at him the more frightened she appeared. Crouching down put them both on more even footing. Once they were on the same level, those chocolate brown eyes focused on him intently, needing some sign to let her know Dean Winchester wasn't something else she had to fear. One loud noise, one quick movement could make her disappear through the nearest exit.

Dean put on his best charm-the-girls expression and kept his voice low and soft. "Hey, Cutie Pie," he said, winking at her. The little girl stayed perfectly still, absorbing him with enormous sad eyes.

Ellen let go of the child's hand and leaned down over her. Patting her gently on the back, Ellen said, "Sweetie, this is Dean. He's a friend." She didn't add any more, just looked at Dean and effectively dropped the ball in his court for him to make his own contact.

In the space of a breath, it hit him whose eyes were staring back at him. It rattled him to his core and washed a thrill through his body at the same time. That recognition should have scared him shitless but an unexpected rush of happiness came over Dean and he couldn't help the bigger smile that took over his face.

"I'm your daddy, Emily."

Ellen's body jerked at the sound of his pronouncement. Her face hardened and she fixed a burning glare in his direction. Emily remained still, with no reaction at all to what he'd just said.

He didn't need any more information. He'd seen those eyes look at him most of his life. He'd seen her mouth in the mirror every morning when he shaved. He'd been teased about those freckles since he was a boy. This was his kid, now and forever, and he knew it. There was no going back.

"Sam, why don't you take Emily into the other room," Ellen said, rising slowly and gently patting the little girl's head. "Sweetie, show Sam your new coloring book."

Up until this point, Sam had sat in stunned silence on a barstool, just watching. He was frozen until Ellen's sharp tone again broke the stillness.

"Sam, Dean and I need to talk."

Dean had risen to his full height and was locked up in Ellen's angry glare.

"Sure," he said, walking over to Emily and offering his hand. He'd been the only one to notice the flinch run through Emily's body as Ellen had snapped her order and Dean had stood to begin what looked to be a face-off.

Sam moved slowly, trying not to scare Emily any more. "Let's go see that coloring book." He wiggled his fingers in front of him but Sam's hand remained empty. Emily's eyes were jumping between Dean and Sam and she had started to chew on her bottom lip. The silent panic was shifting to physical panic, as if the more people she had to deal with the more overwhelming it became.

Ellen stroked Emily's hair and calmed her own voice. "It's okay, sweetie. Sam's a nice man," she said, then changed her focus back to Dean. "You don't have to be scared. Go with Sam and we'll be there in a minute."

"You don't have to be scared of anybody here, Emily," Dean said, smiling down at her. The frightened look on her face made him want to grab her up in his arms, hold her tight, and tell her he'd kill whatever monster had done this to her and that no other would ever get to her. She wasn't ready for that and he wouldn't force it, not now. But Emily was alive, not some ghost child who could only be avenged; she was a living, breathing little girl. He was going to make damn sure she stayed that way.

"Your Uncle Sam will look after you just like I will," Dean added, feeling the smile spread across his face. "I want to see your coloring book, too, when Ellen and I finish talking."

Ellen bristled once again, and gave Emily a slight nudge toward Sam. This time, the child gave in, temporarily letting go of her mistrust, and following Sam out of the room. When the door had snapped shut, Ellen turned on Dean with a furious blast.

"What the hell were you thinking dropping that bomb on her!?" Two steps had put her firmly in Dean's personal space so that he could feel the anger up close. "You Winchesters are as subtle as a brick through a window!"

"What's your problem, Ellen?" he asked, confused by her reaction. "She needed to know I'm her dad. I'm not some ass who walks away from his kid."

"You need to grow up and think before you open your mouth," she shouted back at him, seemingly unimpressed by his declarations. "What if it turns out she's not yours, Dean? What then? If you get the DNA test back and it says she's not, what are you going to tell her?" Ellen turned quickly toward the bar, to the bartender's solution for trouble. She rounded the corner, grabbed a shot glass, and popped it against the counter. "You gonna just sit her on your lap and say, 'Oops, Emily, I'm not your daddy after all.' What's that going to do to her, Dean?" Ellen sloshed whiskey into the glass and downed it.

Positioning himself across the bar in front of her, Dean took back the offensive. "I don't need a stinkin' DNA test to know that she's my daughter, Ellen. She's mine." He jerked the bottle out of her hand and poured a shot for himself.

"You can't know that, not for sure, Dean. You can't play with this. That little girl is broken into a thousand tiny pieces and one more hit might put her past fixing."

"She's my daughter, Ellen. I know it." Dean drained the glass and poured another.

Ellen snatched the whiskey away from him, shoving the bottle down the bar. "How do you know, Dean? Because you think she looks a little like you? Because she has John Winchesters's eyes?" She hesitated for a moment, trying to soften her tone. "Dean, just because a woman you don't even remember put your name on a birth certificate, doesn't mean it's fact. You should have waited so that Emily doesn't get hurt. You need to know for sure before you start making promises to that little girl."

"I said no test and that's final! I know all I need to know!"

"How?"

Dean slapped his hand down hard on the bar. "Because I just know, all right!! This isn't your business, anyway, Ellen!"

"The hell it's not, Boy!" Ellen leaned over the bar, back into Dean's face once again. "That little girl was dumped here a week ago and she's lost and scared and now it IS my business. I've watched that child so petrified at night that she wakes up in a sweat and still she can't make a sound. I only know a fraction of what she's been through but I do know that what's under that bandage is brutal. You can't just come in here, declare yourself 'Daddy', and ride off–"

"YOU called me, Ellen! Now I'm here to claim her and all of a sudden, you're acting like I'm the bad guy!" He was pissed and wanted Ellen out of his face with her opinions and advice. "She's mine and I'm going to make the decisions now!"

"Listen to yourself, Dean," Ellen yelled back into his face. "'She's mine. I'm here to claim her.' Do you hear yourself? It's like she's luggage you lost at the airport! She's not a possession or some consolation prize for what you've been through all these years. She's a little girl and you can't just try this out to see if you like it and throw in the towel later if you don't."

"I'm her father, Ellen! You don't have a say in this!" Dean matched her volume. There was a time when he might have agreed with her doubts about his worthiness to be Emily's dad, but not now. If Ellen wanted to fight him for her, she was going to lose.

"That's right, Dean. You had such a great role model for being a father! You'll decide everything and to hell with taking advice from someone who knows how parenting is supposed to operate!" She was furious and almost out of breath with frustration. "Do you know why John had a falling out with almost all of his friends in the hunt? Why Bobby even pulled a shotgun on him once? Do you?"

"That has nothing to do with—"

"Because any time someone tried to tell him he was acting an ass by dragging you and Sam all over the country and leaving two little boys alone for days at a time, he got PISSED AT THEM and split with both of you in tow! That's why! Is that what you're going to do to this child, Dean? Is that the life you want for her or is this just about you and what's yours?!"

Ellen knew she'd drawn blood and paused to wait for the flinch.

He didn't scream back at her this time. Dean's reply was low and vicious. "And you're such a success, Ellen? By the way, it's three p.m., do you know where your child is?"

"Shut your mouth!"

Dean could feel the angry heat boiling through his skin. "I get it, Ellen! You screwed up with Jo and you want me to say, 'Here, have a do over on me!' Well, fuck that! You're not going to fix your mistakes by stealing my daughter!"

That defensive blow silenced Ellen. She opened her lips to reply and only a defeated puff of air escaped. The brittle tension was broken by Sam's heavy footsteps as they thumped over the wooden floor toward them.

Sam's face was hard but he kept his voice down to a strained whisper. "You two slugging it out is your prerogative, but you need to lower the volume." He pointed back over his shoulder to the door that hid Emily from view. "She may not talk but she's not deaf."

Dean and Ellen both turned toward Sam, dropping into an embarrassed silence.

"She's really damaged and stuck with a bunch of strangers. You yelling at each other isn't going to help her," Sam continued, letting go of his own anger at the two of them. "Call a truce and start over later when you won't freak out that little kid."

Not waiting for a response, Sam left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Ellen and Dean both stood silently for several strained moments as Sam's words took hold.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in front of Ellen, pulling his focus away from the office door. He forced his body to relax from attack posture, ashamed at the level of anger he'd reached so quickly with her. "That was over the line, Ellen. I'm sorry," he said, again looking her in the eye.

Taking a long, deep breath, Ellen briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. "I shouldn't have brought your daddy into this. I'm sorry, too. I don't even know where all that came from." Ellen drummed her fingers nervously on the bar. "I'm just tired and she's real easy to get attached to. It's been a long time since I felt that kind of--, " She didn't finish her thought, merely picked up the bottle, silently offering another shot that Dean declined. "I know you want to do what's right. Most guys would be running in the other direction."

"It might be best for her if I did," Dean answered, "but I can't, Ellen. I just can't." Dean shot a look over toward the office. "I can't explain it, but I know she's mine. I'm not just saying that because I want her to be. I know this kid. I know what she's feeling," he said, trying to make her understand something he didn't even have a firm grasp on himself.

Ellen moved out from behind the bar and, for the first time, Dean noticed the circles under her eyes. She'd lost sleep taking care of a child she'd just met, his child, just because  
Emily had needed someone.

"Dean, I want you to know that I mean what I'm about to offer you," she said, her voice once again kind. "If you don't think you can do this, I'll take her. If you need help with her, I'll help. I won't try to take over, just be someone else who cares about her, okay? You decide."

Dean nodded in agreement, accepting the hand Ellen rested on his shoulder. "I've just got to figure out what's the best thing to do."

"The three of you can stay here as long as you want, so that you can get to know each other. There's plenty of room here now and it's a place you can keep secure." Ellen wasn't implying anything that hadn't already run through Dean's mind. The threat to Emily could still be real and they had no way of even knowing what the threat was at the moment. "Once she feels safe again, maybe she'll start talking," Ellen said, breaking the contact after a soft pat to Dean's arm. "Maybe she can tell us what happened."

"Thanks, Ellen," he answered, backing up just a bit from the touchy-feely moment. "A little girl. Wow. I'm gonna need an instruction manual or something."

"Sorry, Dean," Ellen laughed. "This is learn-as-you-go. You'll figure it out. She just needs you to love her, that's all. Everything else will fall into place if you do that." Gesturing toward the door, she said, "Spend some time with her. You'll be surprised how the instincts kick in."

"God, I hope so," he said, and followed her through the door to the room holding his daughter.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Firefly – Chapter 6

By: Suz

Sam had returned to find Emily sliding a bright green color across the pages of her coloring book. Spread out over a low, wooden coffee table were several printed coloring books, all featuring princesses or other fairytales. He was glad they were the sanitized Disney versions of royalty and not the morbid Grimm tales he'd tangled with as a hunter.

Ellen's office had the feel of a sanctuary. It was a much more comfortable place to hang out than the barroom on the other side of the wall. Ellen's messy desk was over to the side but a fat, overstuffed sofa and chair took up most of the room and it gave Emily a place to get lost in her artwork.

The little girl had yet to acknowledge him in any direct way, but she'd obediently followed him from the building confrontation between the other two adults. She seemed more willing to take the risk of being with a stranger than stay with raised voices and tension. Emily had walked into the room, plopped down on a floor pillow, and started coloring. Her eyes and hands were completely focused on a butterfly sitting on Snow White's hand.

"Snow White, huh?" Sam said, easing down on the sofa beside where she sat. Her head was right beside his knee and he had to resist the urge to pat those curls. "Is that a green butterfly? Cool."

Almost obsessively, she continued filling in the butterfly until every empty space was bright green. Once finished, she moved on to making a squirrel hot pink. After a few strokes, she stopped, dropping her crayon into the fold of the book. Grabbing an orange crayon, she picked up a Little Mermaid coloring book and opened it up in front of Sam. She flipped to an empty page, put the crayon on the table, then returned to her own picture.

"You want to share? Thanks," Sam said, pleased that she'd made some contact. Rubbing the color across the beige-toned page, he spent the next few minutes in silence, trying to share Emily's quiet world.

Maybe she was his niece, maybe not. Right now, it didn't matter who she was and it didn't take a psychic to know this kid was desperately in need of someone to help bring her back to the world. Dean had suddenly, out of the blue, decided to declare this little girl his own. It was almost unsettling to watch the speed at which his older brother had handed over his show-me-the-facts card for a birth certificate with his name on it. Sam had seen the moment on Dean's face when he switched gears from calculation to decision. Dean had studied the little girl's face with such intensity, almost scanning and processing information like a machine. Then all of Dean's features had softened at once, right before he told Emily he was her father.

Emily was pressing the color into the page so that every stroke was thick and shiny. Each image was nearly three dimensional with color. The trees surrounding Snow White were now becoming orange with purple apples.

"I had a friend who was an artist and she said it was boring to paint things the colors they were supposed to be," Sam said, grabbing another crayon from the pile in the center of the table. "We're not boring, are we?"

She didn't stop her work or appear to hear him at all. The sun over Snow White and her hot pink squirrel friend was turning a soft shade of lavender.

The door creaked open slowly. Dean pulled himself into the room a piece at a time, first peeking his head inside as if he were waiting for permission. Sam waved him over, privately enjoying the sight of his brother intimidated by a silent four-year-old girl. Trying to fake normalcy, Dean walked into the room and stopped beside Emily's spot on the floor.

"So," he said, fumbling with his hands in his pockets. "We're coloring?"

"Emily, he's a genius," Sam said, pointing toward the empty spot on the sofa.

Dean took his place on the cushions, leaning forward on his elbows. "This not-too-funny ape is my little brother and he's just jealous because I'm the good looking one." He leaned in for a stage whisper. "Let's not rub it in that we're prettier than he is."

Ellen had been standing at the door and Sam caught a quick glimmer of sadness in her eyes. It moved on swiftly as she let go of her control over Emily. "It looks like you have this well in hand, Gentlemen. It's Sunday so the bar's closed tonight. Should be quiet," she said, warmth obvious in her voice despite the sadness. "I'm going into town for a while. Just pick whatever rooms you want upstairs and make yourselves at home."

"You're leaving?" Dean's voice was a little too high, a little too panicky.

"You'll do fine," Ellen said, grabbing her purse from behind her desk. "I'll be back soon. There's Kool-Aid and PB&J in the kitchen. She seems to like that."

"Me, too, kid," Dean said, putting his hand on Emily's head, only to have her pull away. His hand stayed still in the air, then disappointment curled his fingers closed and he put his hand back in his lap. Emily stayed focused on her coloring book and had begun to add her own elements to the drawing. Tiny red flames were being pressed into the corners of the page, surrounding the princesses.

Sam could see the excitement drain from his brother's eyes and Dean's shoulders slumped a bit in defeat. Dean had accepted Emily so quickly but that feeling was clearly not running both ways. Dean continued to stare at the back of Emily's head, his confident posture crumbling.

Ellen cleared her throat from her spot at the door. When they looked up at her, she mouthed the word, "Patience," and left.

With their safety net out the door, Sam searched to find a way to help his brother. His older brother was a fixer but this fix wouldn't come easily or quickly. Dean had committed but had no idea how to start. "You know what, Emily?" Sam said, ignoring the disturbing flames she was building up with layer upon layer of color. "When I was your age, this guy here, your dad, took care of me when our dad couldn't. He still won't let me pick the music we listen to in the car, but I can always count on him. So can you."

Sam smiled at his brother and the gratitude he saw didn't need words. Sam got up then, deciding to give Dean privacy to find his own way to reach Emily. "I'm going to get the stuff out of the car," he said. "See you two later." And then they were alone.

After Sam left the room, Dean felt the heavy silence pressing down around them. Emily had moved on to another page, apparently oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. Dean envied her insulation.

He leaned back against the cushions, watching as Emily created her own artificial sanctuary. The flames on her drawing didn't shock or disturb him. It was her way of telling everyone what had happened to her in the only way open to her. Dean understood that and saw it for the positive release it was.

Still a hundred different scenarios were playing through his mind about those flames and the nightmare that had destroyed Emily's world, all of them evil. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to shove those thoughts out of his head. Right now, he had to be in the moment with this little girl.

"Emily," Dean said, not expecting her to respond, "I know you miss your mom and I can't replace her. Nobody could do that. I can't undo what happened either, but I want you to know you're safe with me. I'm going to do my best to get this right, whatever that means."

The child just kept on coloring. Dean decided to believe she understood him and let her keep going as he watched over her shoulder.

***

No matter where they stayed, the Winchesters had set supplies that came in from the Impala. Dean's gun and Dean's knife were never far from his pillow. Sam was less paranoid and was content to stow his weapons in his duffle bag under the bed. The shotguns and other supplies came in on an as needed basis.

It took Sam two trips to haul the supplies and personal gear upstairs. With the mysterious circumstances surrounding the attack on Emily, "as needed" seemed to apply to the situation. Sam had grabbed an extra bag and stuffed it with a flask of holy water, a box of salt, two shotguns with regular and salt rounds, and what used to be called Ruby's knife. It had stopped being Ruby's knife years ago.

Sam dropped Dean's heavy bag onto the bed in the room at the top of the stairs. Dean always preferred point in any operation and his control issues would be satisfied if he could be the one to monitor comings and goings on the stairs. His burden now lighter, Sam shoved open the door to the next room, let the bags fall, and flopped down on the bed. His body bounced heavily before it settled into the comfort.

He could feel the sleep easing up through his body and closing his eyes. After the last job, the drive, and the family bomb that had exploded downstairs, Sam Winchester needed to sleep. He needed to ignore the urge to open his laptop and start digging around for the Austin Fire Department's report on Calley Rail's apartment fire. He needed fight the desire to google Calley's name and find her picture on the net. He desperately needed to sleep instead of tracking down Lindsey Deaton's phone number.

"Shit," Sam muttered to himself, reaching one long arm down beside the bed to yank his laptop onto his stomach.

It didn't take long to get where he needed to go. Years of embracing his lawless hacking skills made local government files little to no challenge at all. The report and photos popped up too almost quickly for him to prepare.

Arson. It wasn't a shock to see those words, but the point at which the blaze originated was disturbing. He saved the file for later and continued. Scrolling down, he found another shocker. Two fatalities. Quickly, he cross referenced the coroner's report. Calley's body was identified and the cause of death wasn't some quiet suffocation from smoke. She'd burned alive along with the body of a Jane Doe. When the photos rolled up onto the screen, Sam jerked himself erect on the bed.

The charred bedroom filled up the screen, black and crisp in its horror. Burned dolls and stuffed animals sprawled across the remains of a twin bed and a small suitcase leaned against the wall like some oversized charcoal brick. In the center of the photo lay two blackened bodies. They weren't side by side as if two people had struggled to free themselves from the room and passed out. They were entwined, one on top of the other, with the hands of one melted around the other's throat in a death grip that fire couldn't force apart.

Sam sat the laptop down on the bed and took a moment to put himself in that room. Emily had been in that room. She'd seen that battle to the death, almost to her death. One of those bodies was her mother. He closed his eyes against the flood of his own memories of another mother surrounded by fire, of Jess roasting over his head. No one should have that in their mind, especially not a little girl.

"Hey." Dean's voice came from the door, startling Sam away from the macabre photograph and his memories.

Snapping the lid closed, Sam said, "How's everything going?"

Dean walked into the room, exhaustion heavy in his steps. "Ellen came back and she's giving Emily a bath," he answered, easing down on the edge of the bed. "I tried to get her to eat but she kind of, I don't know, ignored me."

"Smart girl," Sam said, watching his joke fall flat when Dean refused to even fake a smile. "Look, Dean, you've just got to be—"

"Patient. I know," Dean answered, sharply. Rubbing his temples with one hand, he softened his voice as he said, "She's scared of me."

"She's scared of everybody, Dean," Sam said, slinging his legs off the bed and landing his feet on the floor.

"She's not scared of Ellen."

"She's been with Ellen for a week and, if you notice, she just barely lets Ellen touch her. Give it some time," Sam said, watching the failure written across his brother's face. "Just let her come to you."

"Yeah," Dean answered in a near whisper. Turning his attention to Sam's hastily closed laptop, he asked, "What did you find?"

It was going to be business for a while. Sam grabbed up the machine and opened it. "The fire marshal's report says arson," he said, flipping away from the gruesome photo and back to the report, "but look at the flashpoint of the fire."

Dean leaned closer to the screen, "Inside Calley's body? Like someone poured something in her and set her on fire?" He was trying to be professional but he couldn't help the emotion that punctuated his voice.

"No, like the fire started inside the body of the Jane Doe, not Calley," Sam answered, reaching over to click to the next page. He thought it better to get it over with quickly.

"Jesus." Dean whispered the word toward the computer screen, taking in the horror. His eyes focused on the bodies twisted together in mortal combat. "Which one is which?"

"I think Calley's hands are on the other woman's throat."

"Where was Emily?" Dean kept his eyes fixed on the screen, until Sam clicked away to the report.

"The fireman pulled her from behind the bed under the window," Sam said, keeping his voice as level as possible.

"What the hell happened in there, Sam? Who was the Jane Doe? Was Calley trying to fight her off? Was she after Emily or Calley?" Dean had reached to click back to the photographs and Sam stopped him.

"I think we have to go there to find out, Dean." Sam closed the browser. "There's only so much we can get from here."

Dean stood up and began to pace. "Emily saw all of that," he whispered as if he were talking to himself.

Sam watched Dean stalking around the room, trying to process what he'd seen. He wanted to tell his big brother that Emily would be okay, that she may not have seen it all, that maybe she was so young she wouldn't remember at all, that she might have been unconscious already from the smoke. He wanted to say those things while Dean paced around the room silently trying to formulate a plan to fix Emily.

But, it would have been a lie. No kid could ever be okay after that. She'd learn to live around those horrors in her head, but they'd be there always, affecting who she was and how she felt about life. Dean knew it, too. Emily now belonged to the nightmare club they'd shared since they were children.

Sam cleared his throat, and started typing again. "I was going to try to find a picture of Calley," he said, beginning his online search.

Dean yanked a chair over beside the bed and watched the screen over Sam's shoulder.

"Okay, I think this is her on this MySpace page," Sam said, not looking up from his work. "It's tagged on…must be one of her friends pages…here…it says 'The Divine Miss Em and Mama Calley in Galveston'." Sam let the large photo fill up the screen.

Instantly two bright smiling faces popped onto the screen. They were on the beach with a brilliant blue sky behind them. Emily was smiling with her cheek pressed against Calley's face, her hair in a messy ponytail blowing around in the wind. Calley's hair was a light blonde and raining down around her face in waves. Her blue eyes were happy and alive. Calley's smile was a mirror image of Emily's, all teeth and happiness with nothing held back. A small hand was resting on Calley's neck and the two of them were tangled up in each other's touch.

Dean ran a finger across the screen. It was the kind of photo that couldn't be staged. It was just a wonderful moment caught by accident that said everything good about the people in it.

"Look at that. They were happy." Dean said it as if he were relieved to know Emily had once been happy.

"Do you remember Calley now that you see her face?" Sam asked, watching Dean study the photograph.

He shook his head. "Damn it, I should be able to remember sleeping with this woman, Sam. I mean, look at her. How could I be drunk enough or stupid enough to not remember her?"

"Maybe you didn't sleep with her, Dean. It is possible you didn't."

Sam barely got the words out when Dean spun away from the laptop and snatched two handfuls of his shirt. He yanked Sam up until they were almost nose to nose.

Dean's voice was nearly a growl. "I'm going to say this one time. Don't ever bring that up again. You hear me?!"

"Dean, you need to find out—"

Dean shook him with one sharp jerk. "Shut up, Sam! The freakin' subject is closed. Permanently!"

Sam watched the anger in his brother's eyes slow fade from a boil to a simmer as he loosened his grip and let him go. Until that moment, Sam hadn't realized the desperation Dean had attached to holding on to Emily. His attachment wasn't tenuous; it was permanent.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said, trying to express his deep regret. "I wasn't trying take this away from you, man."

"Nobody is taking her away from me," Dean said, standing up and heading for the door. He looked away, trying to shake off the anger and pull his voice back to normal. "I'm going to see if Ellen's finished. Emily has to go back to the clinic in the morning so when we get back, you and I can make a plan."

"Yeah," Sam responded, trying to settle himself after the confrontation. "I'll see what else I can find."

Dean didn't say anything else, just nodded and headed back into the hall.

Sam made himself comfortable and returned to his typing after saving the photo of Emily and her mother.

****************

Dean tried in vain to walk silently over the wooden floor in the hallway. Damn creaking floorboards popped with his every step. It was midnight and after only an hour of sleep, he'd popped awake and had to check in on the little girl who had his name. Hours earlier, he'd watched her kneel beside her bed, say a prayer inside her own head, then crawl under the covers. It was a ritual she must have done with her mother, the mother who was ashes now, and Emily was hanging on to it. Ellen had been there with him but she backed out of the room, leaving him to kiss the little girl goodnight as she stared up at him silently.

He'd almost touched her forehead with a kiss but he'd stopped when he got close enough to see the tension wrinkle Emily's face. She didn't have to be touched by anybody she didn't want and that included him. He'd whispered, "Night, Cutie," and pulled away.

He eased the door open, sliding his head inside to grab a quick look. He'd only been her father for the past nine hours and he was overwhelmed by the need to protect her, to see with his own eyes that she was safe and sound. They had very little information to go on to figure out what had burned through Emily's life, which meant the enemy had the advantage. Tomorrow, he and Sam could start to piece things together. Dean Winchester was a novice at parenting, but he had a Ph.D. in tracking down evil sons of bitches that set fire to mothers and children. Every time he'd looked at the gauze wrapped around Emily's tiny arm, he felt rage flame up in his gut. He was going to find the bastard and kill it, and then Emily would be safe.

He stepped over the salt line he'd poured at her door before he'd turned in, scanning the shape on the bed. Moonlight poured through the window, puddling on the floor just before it reached Emily's bed. It took a moment to adjust his eyes and translate the wad of blankets and sheets into an empty bed. Quickly, he looked through the open bathroom door to find it empty, as well.

"Emily," he called out in a rough whisper as he moved into the bedroom. She hadn't gone down the stairs because she would have passed his room and he would have heard. "Emily, where are you?" His movements changed as he quickly walked across the room, panic erasing his need for stealth.

The salt line at the window was intact and the window was shut tight. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and he was heading back toward to hall to get Sam when he almost stumbled over a small foot sticking out from under the bed. Dropping to his knees, Dean yanked back the quilt that dangled over the edge of the bed.

Wide-awake little girl eyes stared back at him from beneath the bed, and he let out all of the air he'd been holding in his lungs. Fear and relief smacked into each other as one vacated his body and the other rushed in.

"What happened, Cutie?" Dean said, crouching down to check her over. "Did you fall out of bed? You okay?"

Emily was huddled under the bed, head on a pillow, clutching a fuzzy blanket with Disney princesses on it. She hadn't fallen out of bed, he realized. She was hiding.

_Much easier to defend a small space than a large one, right kid? _

That was the kind of logic Dean Winchester could wrap his brain around.

Dean, eased himself down to the carpet, propping himself up on one elbow. "You and the princesses like it down here, huh? Looks kinda cozy."

She was curled into a tight ball now, both arms wrapped around the blanket and crossed over her chest. That still unexpressed terror played behind her eyes and Dean was certain a crowbar couldn't pry her out from the shelter of her hiding place. He was more determined than ever to find the freaking monster who'd put that look in her eyes.

Tonight, that would have to wait.

Reaching up onto the bed, Dean yanked down a pillow and the quilt and stretched himself out across the floor. "You know, Emily," he said, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, "I'm used to sharing a hotel room with your Uncle Sammy because we travel around a lot. It's kinda weird to be in a room by myself." He glanced over at Emily, who was still intently watching his every move. "Except that I don't miss Sam snoring and talking in his sleep about clowns," he said. "You don't snore, do you?" He paused, then shook his head as if to supply Emily's answer. "Didn't think so."

Throwing the covers out over his legs, he settled in on the floor. "Would you mind if I stayed here with you and the princesses tonight till I get used to the quiet? That be okay?"

Her nod was so quick he almost missed it. It was the first response she'd made, the first time she'd reached back to him in any way. That small movement filled him up with a fierce joy and rebuilt his faith that he could make this right for her. Dean lay there on the floor, putting himself between Emily and whatever might try to reach her through the salt and darkness.

"Emily," he whispered, looking over to her in the shadows, "you don't have to worry. Anything that comes would have to get through me and nothing gets through me." Dean smiled and winked at her, then closed his eyes so she would see it was safe to go to sleep.

He opened his eyes many times over the next hours and finally found Emily's closed at around two in the morning.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Firefly – Chapter 7

By: Suz

Morning came far too early for Sam and his eyes burned when he forced them open. After his confrontation with Dean, he'd spent hours trying to find out any information he could about Calley Rail -- how she could have tangled with the dark side and how she could have crossed paths with the Winchester family. It was his way of making things up to his brother.

Sam blinked, trying to adjust to the sun blasting through his window. He rolled over, grunting when he felt the corner of his laptop poke into his ribs. He'd pounded away on the keys until his battery died, and there was still a lot more ground to cover. Finding the truth was the only way to protect Emily and Dean was adamantly ignoring one important question that needed an answer – had he actually fathered Calley's child?

He stumbled across the room to the bathroom, and tried to force himself awake. He couldn't get the look on Dean's face out of his mind when he'd told him not to bring up Emily's paternity again. A pissed off Dean Winchester rattling your teeth was never an experience Sam would recommend for kicks. But behind the anger was the stone cold fear that somehow this life Dean had pieced together in a day was about to be ripped out from under his feet. There was something here filling up a hole in Dean's life and he couldn't entertain the notion that it might not be real.

Dean had reached the end of losses he could endure.

One quick shower and a change of clothes later, and Sam felt himself again. He headed down the hall, and rapped on Dean's door but got only silence in return.

"Dean, get up, dude." He knocked louder, then turned the knob. Dean's perpetually messy bed was empty. Sam walked into the room and intended to turn right around and leave but he walked to the open bathroom door instead. This thought had popped into his head over and over last night. He didn't want to go against Dean and crush the bond he'd been trying to build with Emily since the previous afternoon. Maybe this time, the truth didn't matter as much as what Dean wanted to be true. Sam turned away once, intending to mind his own damn business.

Two steps and one turn later he was back inside the bathroom. Dean had always been completely anal about his toiletries. The second he got to a new room, the mouthwash, toothpaste and toothbrush, maniacal strength hair gel, razor and shaving cream were laid out on the sink and Sam knew better than to touch them. The rest of his room could be chaos but those things were in the same neat and tidy order and if they were half empty, Dean was on the way to the store to get more.

The toothbrush caught his eye. Sam thought long and hard about what he was about to do, weighing the consequences against the truth. Before he lost his nerve, he snatched Dean's toothbrush, wrapped it in a clean washcloth, and put it in his pocket.

He left the room and headed downstairs to the kitchen, expecting to see Dean there but finding only Ellen.

"Morning, Sam," she said, looking a great deal more rested than the day before. "Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge." She was clearing away her own plate but there was a cereal bowl and cup with Sleeping Beauty plastered all over them set out on the table.

"Emily's?" Sam pointed toward the place setting with a grin.

"That girl is princess crazy," she said, laughing. "She found them in the cupboard one morning." Ellen touched the bowl and smiled. "They were Jo's when she was that age. I didn't think she'd mind."

Making his way to the coffee pot, Sam asked, "I haven't seen Dean so I'm assuming they're together somewhere."

He grabbed a seat at the table and took a long drink from his cup.

Ellen sat down beside him, her own cup in her hands. "When I checked on Emily a while ago, she was asleep under her bed with Dean stretched out on the floor beside her."

"What?"

Ellen swallowed another sip before explaining. "Most nights, she ends up under the bed. I suppose it seems like a safe place to her. I just make sure it's vacuumed. Dean must have checked in on her and decided she needed company."

The idea of Dean sleeping on the floor to keep a four-year-old company wasn't too foreign to Sam. Many nights of his own childhood were spent with Dean keeping the Under The Bed Monster at bay so he could sleep.

Now, with Dean upstairs keeping watch over Emily, Sam had what might be his only opportunity to talk to Ellen alone. "Ellen, I need a favor," he said, lowering his voice and keeping a watchful eye on the door.

"Sure, Sweetie. What is it?"

Sam pulled the toothbrush out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of Ellen's coffee cup. "Take this toothbrush to your friend and have him run the DNA test."

Ellen looked confused and stared down at the washcloth containing Dean's toothbrush. "He was so adamant about it yesterday. What changed his mind?"

"He didn't change his mind," Sam said, pushing the item closer to her. "I don't want him to know."

"Wait a minute, Sam," Ellen said, leaning over and lowering her own voice. "If he doesn't want the test—"

"Ellen, have them run the test and I want to be the only one to see the results." Sam took another long drink, hoping the caffeine would kick in soon. The dishonesty felt a great deal more exhausting when he said it out loud.

Holding the still concealed toothbrush in her hand, Ellen stayed silent for a long moment. The internal conflict played across her face, twisting her mouth into a deep frown.

"Sam, I don't feel right about this," Ellen pushed the evidence back toward Sam. "We should respect his decision."

Leaning over to plead his case, he pushed it back across the table to her. "Ellen, there's going to come a day, sooner or later, when both of them will need to know what true and what's not. I don't want to hurt my brother, but if we're going to get to the bottom of this, every fact about that little girl is important. Knowing if Dean is really her father is going to matter."

She hesitated another moment, then snatched the toothbrush into her hand and got up from the table quickly. Grabbing a plastic bag from under the counter, she popped the toothbrush into the baggie and pressing the edges closed. Keeping her eyes turned away from Sam, she said, "He's going to be furious."

"I'll take all the blame," Sam said firmly, even as his shoulders relaxed.

"Damn right you will." Ellen dropped the bag into her purse and zipped it shut.

Sam got up and filled a cup of coffee for his brother. "I'm going to go take this upstairs."

"Tell Dean we have a couple of hours before Emily's appointment," Ellen said. "I'll come get her up in a while."

He got to the door and turned around one last time. "Thank you," he said, still uncomfortable with the new secret he'd dragged Ellen into.

"I hope this doesn't blow up in your face, Sweetie," Ellen answered, grabbing a towel to wipe down the counter.

Sam climbed the stairs, trying to put their conversation out of his mind for now. Dean would go nuts looking for his toothbrush but he'd grab his spare and forget about it in the face of dealing with Emily.

He listened at Emily's door, but heard only silence so he carefully turned the knob and eased inside. Dean was laid out across the floor on his back in a dead sleep. His arm was outstretched toward Emily's bed. The little girl was sprawled on the carpet also, halfway under the bed, body tangled in a Disney blanket. Her hand was wrapped around one of Dean's fingers in a sleepy need for security.

Sam studied the tense expression on Emily's face. Even in sleep, she was wound up tight in fear. Her grip on Dean's finger was so fierce that his fingertip was slightly blue. As odd as their sleeping arrangement seemed, Sam couldn't help but be happy to see Emily's hand touching Dean's.

"Dean, it's me. Time to get up," Sam whispered. He didn't shake him or raise his voice, just gave his brother time to hear and wake up slowly.

After a few seconds, Dean's eyelids opened and acknowledged Sam silently before stiffly rolling toward Emily's body on the floor beside him. Sam watched Dean focus on Emily, then close his eyes again. He'd probably done that several times during the night. When he opened them again, he noticed the fingers gripping his hand and a large smile spread across his face.

"Rough night?" Sam asked, watching Dean stroke Emily's fingers with his thumb.

"Yeah, but it got better," Dean whispered, easing his hand away and trying to roll up from the floor in aching sections. "She finally fell asleep when she was more tired than she was scared."

Sam reached out a hand to help Dean pull himself off the floor, working not spill his coffee at the same time. When Dean was upright and steady, Sam handed him the coffee cup and they left the room together.

"Ellen said she'd be up soon to get Emily ready." Sam followed Dean to his room, trying to forget the nagging guilt he was feeling.

Still a bit dazed, Dean opened the door. "I need a shower. Will you listen for her until Ellen gets here?"

"Sure."

"Oh," Dean turned around, leaning against the doorway, "did you get anything else on Calley?"

"Yeah, I did, but it'll wait till you get back," Sam answered. "I'm waiting on a couple of phone calls."

Dean simply nodded and changed the subject, "Ellen said their last visit to the doc wasn't easy. Burns are painful."

He'd expected Dean to ask again for whatever information he had found already and he was grateful that Dean was still too half-asleep to demand it. "Do you want me to go with you?" He didn't have a clue how he could help but he was at least going to offer.

"No, you stay here and work," Dean said as he patted the doorframe. "We shouldn't be gone too long. Thanks for the offer, Sammy. You're a good uncle." With that, Dean closed the door.

"Yeah, good uncle," Sam repeated, feeling more like the enemy.

****

Dean wheeled the Impala into the asphalt parking lot, still talking to a silent Emily in the backseat. He'd rambled on about anything he could think of to fill the silence and fight Emily's building anxiety. He'd kept one eye on the rearview mirror and the closer they'd gotten to the clinic, the more she had wiggled and looked around as if trying to find an escape.

Ellen had told him the last trip wasn't pleasant, but she hadn't given many details. She'd kept pretty quiet in the passenger seat, her own unease building.

"You know what I'm going to teach you this afternoon, Emily?" Dean said, stopping the car and shoving it into park. "I'm going to teach you a super secret formula that only I know." He slid out of the driver's seat and then pulled open Emily's door. "The formula for the Dean Burger."

"You cook?" Ellen sounded half amused and half astounded.

"I don't just cook," he said, leaning over to unhook the little girl's seatbelt. "I grill. It's an art I don't get to practice often in motels but I'm gonna give that bar-b-que behind the bar a proper workout tonight." He held out his hand to Emily, "Come on out, Cutie Pie."

She didn't move quickly, but kept switching her eyes from the front of the clinic to Dean and out the window. Ignoring his hand, Emily finally slid out from the car and her sneakers hit pavement with a thump.

Dean tried to take her hand again, only to have it jerked away. The sting of that resistance was a surprise after he'd found her hand in his this morning. Maybe he'd just imagined more progress, after that long night on the floor, than was truly there. He kept walking beside her and felt his disappointment fade when Emily reached up and wrapped her hand around a couple of his fingers. Clearly she made the rules about the contact and after a moment's consideration, Dean decided that was fine with him.

The clinic was in a small, wood frame building that had probably been a house once. Dean pulled open the door and let Ellen and Emily walk through. They were immediately met by a young nurse in bright pink scrubs.

"Hi, Emily!" she said, dropping to her knees in front of the little girl. "We're so glad to see you. Who's that on your shirt? Belle? She's my favorite." Her nametag said "Melissa" and she didn't seem thrown by Emily's lack of response. "Let's go on back and when we're done you can have candy AND stickers."

The smell of the clinic made Dean uncomfortable. Hospitals and clinics had never been pleasant places for Winchesters. Every time he'd had the misfortune to find himself in one, something awful had followed. Promises of stickers and candy didn't seem to ease Emily's tension, either.

Emily hesitated, then she squeezed Dean's fingers more tightly, dragging him with her as she followed the nurse. Not wanting to transmit his own dislike of medical facilities, he put on a smile and said, "You hear that? Stickers and candy. I'm coming here next time I need a doctor."

"Glad to hear it," said a man in a white coat walking toward them in the hall. "I'm Michael Wallace." He shook hands with Dean, smiling at him and Emily.

"I'm Dean Winchester, Emily's dad." It was the first time he'd said it to a stranger and it sounded good.

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Wallace said, then turned to Ellen. "Ellen, why don't you and Mel take Emily into the exam room and Mr. Winchester and I can get that sample we need for the test we talked about."

"We won't be taking the test, Doc," Dean said, moving toward the exam room with Emily. "Don't need it."

"Really," the doctor said, looking first puzzled then pleased. "Nice to hear for a change."

The room was stark white and sterile, like most small town clinics, and a large table took up most of the room. Nurse Mel had lifted Emily onto the table. The little girl had allowed it but the look on her face only became more unhappy. Dean moved into the room, leaning against the wall to try to stay out of the way.

"Okay, pretty girl," Dr. Wallace said, making his way over to Emily. He had an easy, fatherly way about him that probably worked to calm most kids. Emily wasn't most kids.

"Let's listen to those lungs and see if that bad smoke has got the heck outta there." He slid a stethoscope under the back of her t-shirt and told her to breathe in and out several times. Dean watched as Emily endured the touching but tried to squirm away. The doctor held her gently by the shoulder, keeping only the contact he had to have. "Sounds good," he reported, looking at Ellen, then at Dean. "Almost completely clear. Just what I wanted to hear."

Dr. Wallace used a small light to check her pupils. When he pulled her eyelids wide, the look on Emily's face was less fear than down right pissed off. She twisted her head away, pulling out of his grasp. The attitude almost made Dean laugh. It was much better to be mad than afraid.

The doctor made a few notes on Emily's chart and looked toward Ellen. "Has the sleeping and eating gotten any better?"

"A bit," she answered, looking over at Dean as if to share the same information with him.

"Still no talking?" He saw Ellen shake her head in response and said, "Well, everything else is looking good so I'm sure that will follow in time, now that her dad's here."

That was good news and Ellen looked relieved. Dean let himself relax against the wall. This wasn't going so badly after all.

The doctor pulled the stethoscope from around his neck and laid it on the counter behind him. Pulling over a tray of instruments from the corner, he said, "Emily, we're going to have to take a look at this boo boo on your arm, okay? Need to be sure no germs are making trouble in there and clean it up."

It was most definitely not okay with Emily. Yanking her arm behind her back, Emily scooted away from the doctor to the point where she bumped into the nurse then pulled away from her. Dean came off of the wall and moved toward the little girl, drawn to her panic like a magnet.

The doctor didn't move to force Emily to comply, but looked over at Dean and motioned him outside. "Mel," he said, as they reached the door, "Would you call Linda to come in here with us? We'll be right back."

After they'd made their way into the hall, Dean spoke first. "So, what you're about to do hurts and she knows it, right?"

"Yes, it does and it was pretty rough last time. Took three of us to hold her while we treated the burn and changed the dressing," Dr. Wallace said, keeping his voice low. "I'm assuming Ellen told you about the wound?"

"She said it was brutal." Those were her exact words when she'd described it the day before. He was beginning to understand what she must have meant.

"Pretty good description," the doctor agreed. "It's very severe but she got good treatment immediately afterward. There's going to be scarring, she'll need plastic surgery for later when it's completely healed. For now, we need to unwrap the wound, clean it, and check for infection. The unwrapping can be painful and cleaning a burn hurts, too. But it has to be done."

Dean sucked in a deep breath. More pain. She didn't deserve more pain but pain seemed to like Winchesters and he'd made her a Winchester. "How long will it take?"

"Not long if it's progressing the way I hope it is, but it's going to seem like a very long time. Emily may be silent but she fights like a wildcat." The doctor leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Ellen said this was all new to you so if you'd rather wait out here, it's fine."

"No. If you're doing something to her, I'm going to be there." If she had to take it, he was going to take it with her.

"Okay, but please let the nurses hold her. That way, she associates the bad thing with them and you can be there for the comfort. Works best that way."

He seemed trustworthy. If Ellen thought he was okay, he must be. "Okay, just try not to scare her too much. She's been through too much already."

The doctor nodded in agreement. When they returned to the room, Emily was still in her personal fortress in the center of the table, her left arm barricaded behind the knees she'd drawn up to her chest. Dean walked past her, taking a place against the wall. His stomach tightened into a hard knot, knowing what was about to come. Ellen came over to stand beside him, a silent compassion in her eyes.

"Emily, I'm going to unwrap that bandage now, Sweetie," the doctor said, as one nurse helped pry Emily's arm from behind her knees. With that motion, the battle began. Emily's body flailed around like an animal caught in a trap, twisting in an effort to get free.

Both nurses were fighting to hold on to the child's arms and legs as she strained and kicked against them. Her face was a bright red vision of fury. The doctor had stretched out her arm and was removing the gauze as quickly as he could manage while a four-year-old warrior jerked against him. The last layer of gauze peeling away from the wound turned up the volume on Emily's struggle and Dean flinched at the screams he could almost hear inside the child's head.

As the doctor stretched out Emily's arm on the table, Dean caught his first sight of the burn. He felt his body begin to ache as the revelation of Emily's pain hit him full force. Mottled, melted flesh wrapped around her skin in the form of a hand. The shape of four fingers stretched across the top of her tiny arm and a thumbprint was seared to the other side. Some of the skin was a damp, bubbly angry red, some was peeling away, and other parts were hardened into sickly brown scabs where they had begun to heal.

"That bitch," he muttered, feeling cold with shock. That charcoal Jane Doe bitch had grabbed Emily while she burned.

"That's why she doesn't want to be touched, Dean," Ellen whispered in his ear.

Emily freed her legs from the nurse's grip and threw one foot toward the doctor's head, which he barely dodged. The other sneaker collided with the instrument tray, clattering all of them to the floor. Her face was wet with sweat and tears and her father couldn't stand it another second.

"Everybody STOP!" he yelled, moving over to Emily's side.

"It'll just be a bit longer, Mr. Winchester," the nurse said, trying to hang on to Emily's good arm. "I know it's hard but—"

"Let her go! All of you, right now!" Dean shouted, shoving the woman away from Emily's side. Forcing his volume down a few notches, he said, "Just let me talk to her a minute and you can start over." He looked over at the doctor who was trying to hold the injured arm still and said, "Please?"

Emily had immediately stopped struggling when Dean's voice had rang out through the room. Everyone had backed away, giving the two of them some space to calm down. Dean leaned over the little girl as her furious panting echoed through the room. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped the tears and sweat off of her face only to have more tears run down to replace them. Being careful not to make her feel confined, he stroked her hair a couple of times, relieved that it didn't set her off again.

Taking in a deep breath, Dean tried to swallow the tremble in his voice before he spoke. "Cutie Pie, I know this really hurts. I know how it feels. I really do and I'm going to show you how I know." Reaching up to his sleeve, he peeled it up onto his shoulder revealing his own mark. Ignoring a gasp from the other side of the room, he moved closer to Emily to give them some privacy in the crowded room. He'd had the brand so long he didn't even notice it anymore but he didn't care if they saw and wasn't about to offer any explanations.

Emily's eyes focused on the hand burned into Dean's flesh, mesmerized by the shape. Her fingers reached up to carefully touch the raised skin and the wild look in her eyes began to fade.

"That's right, you can touch it because it doesn't hurt anymore." Her hand was hot and shaky against his skin and she spread her fingers out across the mark. "So, I really know how badly it hurt when it happened to you and how scared you must have been. I know how much it hurts now."

Emily's lip trembled and she gripped Dean's shoulder tighter, holding on to evidence that she wasn't alone in her pain.

He leaned down close to her cheek and whispered in her ear. "You have to let the doctor take care of your burn so it'll get better. It's going to hurt some but it won't hurt for long. You can hold on to me as tight as you want and it won't hurt me. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

She didn't nod or answer but Dean saw her body relax, all except for the tiny hand holding onto his scarred shoulder. He kept his eyes focused on hers and waved the doctor back with his other hand. Dean and Emily spent the next ten minutes eye to eye as the doctor cleaned and inspected Emily's wound. The pain would force tears down her cheeks and Dean would whisper to her what a brave girl she was as he willed his own eyes to stay dry.

Once the wound was cleaned and treated, the doctor wrapped another layer of gauze around Emily's arm and said, "It's looking really good. Just keep doing what you're doing and come see me in two days." He turned toward Emily and said, "I bet it won't hurt nearly this bad next time, sweetie."

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said, as Emily's hand slid off of his shoulder.

Slowly, she sat up, too exhausted to resist when the nurse eased her down from the table. "Want those stickers now, Emily? Lots of princesses in there," the nurse said, trying to be cheerful.

Emily looked up at Dean with her lost brown eyes, unsure of what she should do. "I think you've earned a whole roll of stickers, kid. Go pick out the ones you want. We'll be here," he said, smiling warmly at her.

As everyone left the room, Dean lagged behind with Ellen at his back. She'd stayed quiet, letting him take charge of his daughter.

Dean let his head roll backward, closing his eyes against the storm in his chest. Sadness, pain, anger, and intense love for that tortured four-year-old child all smacked against each other while he stood there waiting.

"You'd rather they cut off your own arm than see them hurt," Ellen said, her hand resting on Dean's back. "It's worse than anything that could happen to you when it happens to your child."

"I'm going to find who did this and they're gonna die. They're gonna fucking suffer and die. I swear to God," Dean said, still trying to control his emotions behind closed eyes.

"I know," Ellen whispered, patting his back and moving around him toward the door. "I need to go talk to Mike about something. I'll meet you two at the car."

Dean ran his hand over his face and forced it to stop shaking before he went out into the hallway to find his daughter.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - *****WARNING**** Sexual situation and language *** Adults only, please

Firefly – Chapter 8

By: Suz Mc

Sam had lost himself in Calley Rail's life. He'd printed out enough paper to cover the pool table in the bar and what he'd put together was a combination of sad, happy, and savagely terrifying. At first, he'd thought Calley had a charmed life that went bad only to find out it had been a rough life with a few shots of happiness thrown in between the disasters.

The research seemed to point in a dangerous direction. He hoped he was wrong. He knew he wasn't.

The familiar rumble of a V8 engine startled Sam from his pile of papers. Dean was back and it was time to get on with the job. He didn't really need to stretch his legs but it was a good excuse to leave his makeshift desk and walk over to the window.

Dean was holding the backdoor of the Impala open wide for Emily to crawl out. Both of them looked tired and worn. They walked side by side, their bodies giving the appearance of two soldiers coming off the battlefield. Dean's face was tight and a little more pale than usual. Emily's head was down, looking at the ground as she walked with just enough energy to pick up her feet. Halfway to the building, Emily reached up and took hold of Dean's fingers. It wasn't a tightly bonded mesh of fingers, just a slight connection, like she was just making sure he was still there. Dean's hand was open and loose as if careful not to squeeze back and have her reject his touch.

Sam pulled the door open, letting Dean, Emily, and Ellen come into the bar. "Hey, how'd it go?" Sam asked, as Dean guided Emily past him.

"She's gonna be fine. Toughest princess I know," Dean said, reaching to touch Emily's head but barely brushing against her hair.

Sam crouched down in front of her. "That's great, Emily. You must be a better patient than this guy. He gets so cranky hospitals all over the country have warning posters up about him."

"Or wanted posters," Dean said with a half-laugh to go with it.

Emily just stared at Sam with her eyelids half open, too tired to keep standing much longer.

"Let's go talk to Jake a minute about some bar business and let you get a nap, Sweetie," Ellen said, guiding Emily toward her office.

"See you later, Cutie," Dean said, keeping a smile until the office door closed behind the two of them. As it snapped shut, the smile fell off his face and he walked directly to the bar.

"You look like hell, Dean. What happened?" Sam followed Dean to the bar, concerned by the abrupt change in his demeanor.

Dean took a long draw from his beer and set it on the bar with a loud crack. "She has a handprint burned onto her arm."

"What?"

"A hand, Sam," Dean said, putting his own hand on his forearm in the exact position of Emily's wound. "Right here. Somebody was on fire and fried her skin with their fucking burning fingers." He took another drink, his breath coming in sharper and sharper bites.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. That's horrible." Sam watched his brother drain the longneck bottle and reach for another. "Is she going to be okay? What did the doctor say?"

"If she could make a sound, she'd have been screaming her head off today," Dean said, ignoring the question. "You know how bad it hurts to treat a burn like that? They practically have to scrape it. Even the bandage coming off hurts."

Emily's pain was part of Dean and he was still feeling it. "Is it getting better?" Sam asked, then grabbed his own beer and took a drink. Thinking about Emily's tiny arm being branded by a burning hand put a knot in his gut. Grown men had a hard time with torture like that. How could a four-year-old stand it?

Focusing a bit more on the conversation, Dean said, "The doctor said her lungs were good and the wound's healing but she's going to need plastic surgery and even then she's probably going to be scarred for life."

Still keeping a tight grip on the beer bottle, he came out from behind the bar. "You know, she landed a few good shots on the three grown ups who were trying to hold her down. Nearly kicked the doctor in the head." He found a chair beside the pool table, and dropped down heavily. "Emily packs a wallop with those skinny legs. When she's old enough to train, look out."

Train. That was a John Winchester word. Sam had heard it every day he'd spent with his father. _"Wait till you're old enough to train, Sammy." _It sent a cold chill down his back.

"Old enough to train, Dean? Are you serious?"

"Don't look at me like that, Mike Brady," Dean said, exhaustion giving away to annoyance. "You know she'll have to train and learn everything we know."

"Great!" Sam shoved a chair out of his way and paced a few steps away from his brother. "Congratulations, Dean! You officially sound like a dad, OUR dad."

"I AM NOT LIKE DAD!" Dean leapt to his feet, following Sam across the room. By the time he got to Sam, he'd burned through half of his furious energy. Looking up into his brother's face, he said, "I'm not. I hope she never joins the hunt, but the hunt's already found her. It's done. If I don't teach her what she needs to survive, I might as well sign her death warrant and you know it!"

John Winchester's voice was pouring out of Dean's mouth, using the same justifications their dad had used to tie them to a rootless life of hunting. Sam was about to amp up the argument with lists of reasons why no kid should grow up the way they did when Dean cut him off mid-thought.

"Why the hell are you trying to take this away from me, Sam?" Dean was standing in front of him and looking not like a man ready for a fight but like any vulnerable human being on the verge of losing the one thing that he held dear. "I've spent my whole freakin' life trying to keep you and Dad and a thousand other people from getting hurt. Why don't you want Emily to be my daughter? Explain that to me. You think I'm not good enough to be her father? Is that it?" Dean said, his voice filled more with pain than anger.

"I'm trying to keep you and Emily from being hurt, Dean," Sam said, forcing his tone to change. Usually, he had to fight things out with Dean. There were no calm discussions. They battled through pros and cons and landed busted up somewhere in the middle. This time Sam didn't have the heart to slug it out with him. Dean was busted up enough already.

"Then leave it alone. Let me have her. Let me have this," Dean's voice had a pleading sound he hadn't used in years. It was the same sound Sam had heard him use when trying to keep him from leaving for Stanford. The face was older, but the sound was the same.

Sam leaned back against the wall, lessening his height advantage over Dean. He took a long drink from the beer bottle and answered. "Dean, I know you'd be a good father to that little girl. Hell, you were a good father when you were a kid. I know that. I just don't understand why you don't want the proof that will protect you both."

"All I need is to be is a dad to that little girl, Sammy. That's it," Dean answered, sinking down into a nearby chair. "I'm not going to screw it up. I'm going to do it right." His voice took on an almost begging quality, as if desperate for Sam's approval, for his blessing.

"That's what Dad thought he was doing, too," Sam said, pulling over a chair to sit beside his brother.

"I know what went wrong for us. I do. But why does it have to be all or nothing?" Dean leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees, the beer bottle dangling from his fingertips getting his full attention. "Today, when Emily was in pain and fighting those people, she needed me. I showed her the hand on my shoulder and she calmed down because she knows that I know how she's hurting. No one else could know that. This is what I'm supposed to do, Sam. I know it. I'm supposed to be her dad and I'm not going to screw her up, I swear I won't. I'll find a way to do this."

Sam could count in single digits the times Dean Winchester had bared his insides for his brother's viewing. His damaged self image, his recurring doubt in his own value was right there, laid out between the pool tables. Their dad had done that to him. Maybe Sam had helped him do it.

"I don't want to take her away from you, Dean. I just don't want anyone else to show up with better proof than a birth certificate and take her away from you three or five or ten years down the road," Sam said, watching Dean stare at the floor. "I'm not trying to hurt you, I swear."

Dean nodded, accepting Sam's explanation. "Then tell me you've found out who I need to kill so Emily will be safe and we can get on with this family."

Sam got up from his chair, understanding that Dean had jammed a bookmark into their discussion and he wouldn't be reopening it any time soon. Moving over to the pool table that held a day's worth of research, Sam said, "I did what we always do. Started with the victim."

Dean went with him to the table, following the photographic outline Sam had pieced together of Calley Rail's life. Dean picked up a society page photo of a very well dressed family at a formal event. "This her family?" he asked, scrutinizing the photograph.

"Sort of," Sam said, handing Dean a print out of an obituary. "Calley's parents were high school teachers, never very financially secure. They were killed in a car accident when she was ten and her father's brother, Landon Rail took her in."

"I'm guessing these guys weren't high school teachers?"

"Nope," Sam said, pointing out the man in the photograph. "Landon Rail is the owner of Rail Drilling in Houston. Think Ewings, dripping money, all living together in some big ass mansion. They took Calley in, all right, but you won't see her in any of the family photos, society pages, or magazine articles. It's like she's not really family, if you get my drift."

"I get it," Dean said, his voice a bit harder than before. "Wouldn't let people say they dumped her on the street but she was just tolerated, huh?"

"Looks like it," Sam handed him Calley's school records. "No sign of trouble from her, though, until she was sixteen. Then we have this."

Dean took the printout from the Houston newspaper. "Tragic Natural Gas Explosion Kills Two Local Teens," he read aloud. Scanning the article, he reached then end. "It says Calley and Lindsey Deaton were the only survivors."

"Lindsey Deaton who drove Emily here from Austin." Sam sat down, firing his laptop to life. "There was no investigation into the explosion that I could find. Blew up the basement of this house and then it just disappears from the radar. After that, Calley was shipped off to Our Lady of Perpetual Disappearance boarding school. Once she turned eighteen, she left them all behind and turned up in Austin."

The screen rolled out a website for the Backstreet Art Gallery in Austin, Texas. "She was an artist?" Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder and rubbed his finger over the trackpad, clicking on the name 'Calley Rail' to bring up her display.

"And a very successful one, at that. Austin has a hot artistic community and Calley's career took off. Seems now that she's dead, her work is in even higher demand."

Dean was scrolling through images listed under "Work of the Late Calley Rail." The majority of the paintings were of people, studies of faces and bodies, most in motion, most in bright, thick colors that reached off the canvas. Many of the paintings were of Emily from the time she was an infant to some that looked more recent. "Emily colors like Calley's paintings. I mean, with the heavy colors and strokes."

"You could have been an art critic, dude," Sam said, taking over the trackpad to redirect the website to another page.

"Hey, I can spot a good Velvet Elvis from a bad one with the best of 'em," Dean kept rolling through the paintings, looking at Emily's face through Calley's eyes. Her little face was always surrounded by light, always smiling or laughing. He had yet to see her do either and couldn't help but wonder if she ever would again.

"This is off the subject, but this gallery is selling Calley's paintings for a fortune and Emily should get that money," Sam said, clicking on the prices below each painting.

"Damn," Dean said, a low whistle emphasizing his shock. "One of these could send her to college."

"I sent an email to a friend of mine who's in a law practice in San Diego. I asked him to contact the gallery and let them know he was setting up a trust for Emily. I told him she might still be in danger so we weren't disclosing her location right now," Sam said, noting the surprised look Dean shot him. "I hope you don't mind. I thought we should look out for her best interest."

"No, I don't mind," Dean said, quickly looking back at the screen. "Good thing I have college boy to think of that stuff." He was still studying the paintings, when he found a photograph of Calley at her last opening. It had been a year ago. She was in a bright yellow dress, flowing almost to the floor. Hair long and loose. Wine glass in her hand. She was laughing with a few other people with Emily at her side. They were normal, nice, happy people. "Sam, how does this girl, the girl who paints these pictures, end up in a hunter bar like Getty's? With me? I don't usually attract the art gallery wine tasting type."

He was about to get to the darker part of the presentation. Sam knew what he saw in the next paintings, but he was going to let Dean come to the conclusions himself.

"Artists tell you their stories in their work. I think that's what Calley did." Sam moved on to a separate section of the gallery's website. "These are the most sought after painting in Calley's collection. They're different from the others." Before Sam opened the files, he turned to Dean. "Calley's life seemed to be going fine until the summer of '07. Some of her friends filed a missing persons report on her in August."

"Where did they find her? What happened to her?"

"She was nowhere to be found until mid-October when she just showed up back in Austin. The case was closed with no further investigation," Sam said, opening the new files. "From that time until Emily was born, she painted these. They call them her "Smoke Period.'"

There were ten paintings displayed on the page. Each had the same heavy strokes and three dimensional texture as Calley's other works but all were in shades of gray and dark blue, no bright sunlight, no happiness. Billowing, heavy smoke rolled across each canvas, circling all of the images. Dean rocked back in his chair, taking in the story Calley was telling them.

"You recognize that?" Sam asked, waiting for Dean to get to the same destination.

"Demon smoke," he said, almost whispering to himself. "She couldn't paint it that way if she hadn't seen it." His eyes were glued to the screen, soaking in every image.

"She's telling everyone what happened, even if no one can understand," Sam leaned closer to Dean, lowering his voice. "Just like Emily with the coloring book."

"Wait. Enlarge that one," Dean pointed toward the second painting in the series. Suddenly, an image filled the scene. Pool tables. The backs of several people with their faces obscured. One figure was hunched across the table, pool cue pulled back ready to break. The waves of smoke billowed around him, piling up around his waist.

"That's Getty's. See the busted mirror on the wall? That happened the night I was there. A guy scratched and popped the cue ball into the glass." Dean took in a sharp breath, his eyes darting around at nothing. "Go to the next one."

"Do you remember something?" Sam asked, moving quickly to the next page.

The third painting in the series bled across the screen and Dean shot up out of his chair, grabbing a photo of Calley from the table. He looked back and forth from the new image to the photo, horror taking over his face.

"What are you remembering, Dean?"

"Oh shit. Oh God," he said over and over as he stared at the screen.

This painting took on a darker, more violent tone. In the center of the canvas were the hands of a woman, bound together with rope and tied to what looked like the headboard of a bed. The hands and fingers appeared to be struggling and tense with the rope cutting into the flesh. Black curls of smoke framed the bound wrists and hands, swallowing them. It was a terrifying image of bondage and if that was demon smoke…

Dean was backing away from the computer, from the table, from all of Calley's life spread out for their inspection.

"Dean? What's the matter? Talk to me," Sam was on his feet, reaching out to his brother who looked like he was on the verge of explosion.

"It's her…damnit…I mean, she didn't look like this. She was different. It was her face, her body, but…oh shit what did I do?" Dean let the photograph of Calley fall to the floor and headed toward the front door.

"Dean, wait! Talk to me!" Sam shouted, having to double his strides to catch up.

"Not in here, damnit. Not while she's in there sleeping," he said, pointing toward Ellen's office where his newly acquired daughter was napping. "Not here."

Dean stormed out through the front door of the bar, pounding his way into the sunshine. When he reached the back of the Impala, he stopped, slamming both hands against the trunk. When Sam caught up to Dean, his brother's face was bone white and he was gulping in air.

Sam put both hands on Dean's shoulders only to have him jerk away. "Tell me what you remember."

"This is bad, Sam." His head was bent over, nearly touching the metal. "Awesomely bad. Unbelievably, totally bad."

Sam reached out again and was shocked to feel the tremble radiating through Dean's body. "If we're going to get to the bottom of what killed Calley, of what may be after your daughter, you have to tell me how you know this woman."

Shoving himself off of the vehicle, Dean turned toward Sam but wouldn't look him in the eye. "You swear to me you'll never tell anyone. Swear to me that little girl—" he swallowed a break in his voice, "—is never going to hear this."

"I swear."

Sinking back against the car, Dean took a long breath and closed his eyes against his brother's stare and started talking.

%%%

_Getty's Bar, Beaumont, Texas,_

_September 2007_

_The night had started out like total crap but things were looking up. Dean leaned on his pool stick, watching a sucker slide into his pool hustler's trap. He was about five minutes from a big enough payoff to sit back and enjoy the rest of the night. His buzz was kicking in big time and Dean Winchester was going to get paid, then laid, in that order._

_The other player scratched, sending the cue ball flying into a Budweiser mirror on the wall. Dean stifled his laughter. No need to rub the guy's face in it. He was about to be broke, no need to humiliate him. Humiliated losers tended to start fights when the time came to pay up. Famous words from John Winchester, master pool hustler._

_Sam had tried to drag him to Baton Rouge to that stupid hoodoo priestess. They'd fought for hundreds of miles and after a few punches were thrown, little brother had shoved him out of the car in front of Getty's and told him he'd be back the next day. Sam was so freakin' stubborn that he wasn't listening. The deal couldn't be broken and if it was, Sam was back to rotting meat in no time. That was what the bitch had said and she hadn't stuttered._

_Before he took his place at the table, a soft hand wrapped around his waist. "You want another shot, Sugar?" She was snuggled up against his back, one hand holding onto his belt buckle and the other giving him a shot glass. _

"_Baby, you were reading my mind," Dean said, throwing back the tequila and putting the glass back in her hand. "Damn! I love Texas!" Tequila with a girl in a short skirt and cowboy boots. It was enough to make him heart Texas forever. _

"_I guess I'm your lucky charm, Dean," she whispered, sliding under his arm. _

_Quickly, he grabbed her around the waist and popped her up on the edge of the table. Before he could get there first, she'd slammed her mouth against his, tongue tasting like a hot margarita. When he pulled back, he was laughing. "And you're magically delicious, too, Baby." _

"_Hey, dude!" Dean's soon to be broke pool friend was getting annoyed. "Save that for the room and get back to the game!"_

"_I think he's anxious to get his ass kicked, don't you?"_

"_Kick it."_

_Dean moved away, reluctantly, and took his shot at the table. Sam and his buzz-kill self was long gone on his waste of time hunt and Dean was free to run the table then do right by the little blonde who had kept rubbing against him all night. Three more balls and he'd be finished. _

_He'd stopped worrying about Hell four tequila shots ago when this hot girl had strolled over and sat on his lap. She wouldn't give him her name so he was calling her Baby. It suited her. Baby had the perfect combination of nice-girl-gone-bad that was his ultimate turn on. She was tiny, but had the rack he liked, long blonde hair he could already feel running through his hands, and bare legs with boots. Damn, he might spend the next year right here in this bar. _

_Dean defeated his opponent and quickly collected his money before anyone could figure out they'd been had then headed for the back of the bar where it was nice and dark and loud. _

"_Bring the bottle, Baby."_

_The girl followed, making one stop at the jukebox. She made it to his lap just as "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" blasted out into the smoky room. She straddled him, she putting the bottle up to his lips and he gulped it down. The sting made his insides numb. Dean wanted his insides icy numb and he wanted his outsides on fire. _

"_You a cowboy, Dean Winchester?" She didn't give him time for a witty answer before her tongue took the place of the bottle. Wet girl was grinding against his zipper and his hand tangled up in her hair, just like he'd been thinking about. The other hand slid up her leg, finding nothing but skin under her skirt. _

"_I am tonight," he said, when he finally managed to pull his mouth away. _

_She was all over him and he hadn't even really tried. All of a sudden, she was just there, making his ego explode, looking sweet and acting nasty. He instantly knew this girl was synced up with his mood. He hung onto the last few rational thoughts he had that weren't being strangled by her crotch rubbing on his, and pulled her back. _

"_How 'bout we take this somewhere private?" Dean whispered into her ear, rubbing his hand across that sweet spot where her shirt didn't quite meet the top of her skirt. _

_In between kisses, she groaned back at him, "Bring the bottle, I might want to eat the worm."_

_He laughed as he got up and put her feet on the floor. His buzz had revved up to a level that made him glad the motel was just across the street. _

_She fit right under his arm and she slid her hand into his pocket as they walked. They were tangled up together, trying not to stumble in the dark as they crossed the street. Weird gaps in consciousness were scrambling his sense of time and suddenly he had the girl backed up against the hotel room door, trying to jam the key into the lock. _

_She was jerking his shirt out of his pants and he wanted the damn door to open so he could get both hands on her. When the door finally snapped open, he had to grab her body closer to his to keep them both from hitting the floor. _

_Nails clawed against his skin and he kicked the door shut. She slid down his body and Dean fell back against the door. Belt gone. Fly open. Red hot cowgirl mouth wrapped around his hard on. No Hell looming in front of him, just hungry girl sucking him dry. _

"_Baby..." He felt the words dripping out of his mouth and he felt better than he had in days. Muscles were tightening all over his body. _

_Then she stopped. _

_The cold air hit against him and he was desperate to have her back on him. Then she was, leaning against his body. Shirt gone. Warm tits pressed against his chest. He shivered as tiny hands shoved his pants to the floor and he stripped off his shirt to be skin to skin with her. _

_Blinding lust clawed though his mind, leaving only instinct. He picked up her legs, wrapping her around his waist, digging his fingers into her. The bed was close. If he could just keep moving, he'd get there. _

_Pain. It was ice against his back as she dug sharp nails into him. Pain made his body come alive and he told her to dig harder. His legs banged into the bed and they landed, writhing hot against the mattress. She was talking but he couldn't understand, then she shoved his hand into the pocket of her skirt where it was bunched at her waist. A length of rope tangled in his fingers and he pulled it out._

_The rope was thin but rough and it scraped against her skin as he dragged it from her pocket. "This for you or me?" _

"_Please, baby, I need it this way," she begged, pulling her arms over her head and holding thin wrists together. "You can do whatever you want, just tie me…please." _

_He'd always been a partner who aimed to please and he was hoping he wasn't too drunk to tie knots. "You sure?"_

"_Please do it."_

_At first, he wrapped her wrists loose, most girls just wanted to play at it anyway. Then she started begging and pleading for it to be tighter. "Make it burn, please, baby," she said, grinding against him so he couldn't say no if he wanted to. The tighter he pulled the rope, the more she responded. _

_When he was finished, Dean looped the end through a hole in the headboard and stretched out beside her. "If it hurts, you tell me," he whispered and started licking his way down her neck. _

"_I want the hurt. I want it." _

_The more she talked, the harder it was to think. He gave up thinking. He didn't want to think, just feel. Her skin was hot and clean on his tongue and he wanted to swallow her. One hard nipple in his mouth felt so good between his teeth and when he bit down she bucked like a wild horse. She was begging him to grab and bite and suck her harder and his ears were ringing with the tequila and her voice. _

_Smooth thighs were rubbing against his and he felt the boots she was still wearing scrape against his legs. _

"_Fuck me, baby. Hard. Do it!" _

_He had her waist in his hands, moving her to suit his angle. His fingers almost touched and his booze soaked brain remembered how tiny she was and he loosened his grip. _

"_Do it!" _

_It was somewhere between a command and a plea. She kept wriggling, trying to get to him. Stretching her legs apart with his knees, he pushed inside, slowly burying himself in her body. _

_With a hard jolt, she shoved her body into his, forcing him deeper while she screamed at him to fuck her hard. He stopped thinking, stopped holding back and slammed into her with his full length and she went off like a roman candle. His hands pressed down around her arms, trying to hold her still while he jack hammered between her legs. _

_The world became nothing but sweat and heat and his cock being crushed inside her body. Each thrust met resistance and he was drowning in how crazy hot it was to listen to her moaning his name and wanting more. He was stretched out close to her face, those fantastic tits cutting across his chest, her teeth white and clenched while she fucked him back and he was so close to cumming his head was about to explode._

_Putting his lips to her ear, he joined in with the nasty music she was screaming at him. Telling her how tight and sweet she was and he would fuck her until they died if she wanted him to. He was almost there. She was almost there.  
_

"_Dean…please stop…help me…hurting me.." _

_It wasn't the growling and groaning she'd been doing. The sounds were whimpered out so low he barely heard them. In the haze of sex and booze he was certain of two words and 'stop' and 'hurt' were words he didn't ignore during rough sex. _

_He immediately froze and pulled back to look in her face. Her features were frightened, soft and vulnerable. Then, within seconds, the hard edges returned. _

"_Baby, you want to slow down? We don't have play so rough," He barely had the oxygen to get the words out when she threw her head backward, arching against him._

"_Don't stop…please hurt me…fuck me hard…please." She was back to the begging and pleading and she licked her lips to invite him back._

_And he came back, ramming his tongue into her face. She fucked his mouth hard and he was banging into her with so much force he thought one of them might break in half._

_Cumming at the same time as this girl nearly blinded him. He was paralyzed, suffocated by her body spasming around him. When he finished, he was laying on top of her gasping for air or water or more sex because he couldn't stand for it to be over. _

_Their bodies were slick and wet and he rolled off to lay next to her, putting his face beside hers. She was gulping in air with her eyes shut tight, like she was concentrating on regaining control. _

_They weren't done by a long shot but if he wasn't going to pass out, Dean had to get his own heartbeat down from heart attack level. With one hand, he turned her to face him and smiled. He took time to appreciate her pretty face through a drunken haze. This girl was a combination of petite innocent nice girl looks with the attitude of a wild bar chick. Perfect. _

"_You want your hands back?" he asked, and she smiled back at him._

"_No, I want your hands on me." She arched backward, pushed those beautiful tits into his hands. Slowly, he closed his fingers over one mound and tightened. A throaty groan came out of her mouth. "I knew when I saw you, you were the one I needed. The perfect one." _

_He liked being called "the perfect one." He didn't leave an inch of her untouched and ignored her constant pleading for him to fuck her again. _

_When she couldn't stand it another second, she flipped herself over and they went at it again. Her hands still bound, she held on to the headboard, slamming her ass against him. He felt bad about the bruises that were going to be on her hips in the morning. _

_The neverending litany of begging and commanding was coming out of her mouth. She wanted to be bound but she wanted to give the orders. Dean didn't care. He'd be ordered around as long it kept his dick inside her, as long as he could cum again with that vice grip snatch cutting off his circulation, he didn't care what she wanted._

_And he was doing just that when she wanted him to slap her. He did. Making her lily white ass cheek turn pink and she came while he did it. But she wanted the slapping to go on, harder and harder and he was finished and she was too and there didn't seem to be much point to it except the pain. _

_She was laying back on the mattress with the sheets a damp mess under them. This was usually the part where he would untie his stupid knots and he'd wrap up around the girl until morning. Not this time. _

_She wanted him to slap her face and he said no. She wanted to bleed because it felt so good and would he please hit her so she could bleed and cum again. _

_Even drunk and horny, there were lines he couldn't and wouldn't cross. He told her no and to relax and he'd make her feel good his way, slow and easy this time. The crazy begging didn't stop. Long lists of painful things she wanted him to do poured out of her mouth and his buzz was slowly fading. Pain was pleasure, she said. _

_Not that kind of pain, not if he was the one causing the pain._

_He said no again and she went wild. Screaming what a waste of a dick he was and that she'd barely felt him at all._

_The bottle of tequila was on the floor beside the bed. He grabbed it and swallowed what was left. "That's great, Baby, but as much as I'd like to shut that pretty mouth of yours you're not gonna piss me off enough to smack you around. Not my scene." _

_Buzz destroyed and patience gone, Dean grabbed his knife from under the bed. _

%%%

Sam had stayed silent for the entire story, understanding the shame and embarrassment Dean felt having to tell it. Dean's conversations about sex were generally limited to bragging rights or one-line quips. This time he'd had fallen silent after that last detail.

"What happened when you said you wouldn't beat her?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes away from his brother.

"She went crazy and jammed her knee into my nuts. Guess she thought I'd lose it and give in. I cut her loose and you want to know what I said then? I said, 'Bitch, get your knee and your crazy ass back to Getty's and find some freak who gets off on beating women.' That's what I said and she left and took Calley's body with her." Dean's body rested against the Impala, which was the only thing holding him upright.

"Sounds like a demon trying to ride a human to death," Sam said. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Depending on how long the demon was inside Calley, she could have turned her over to other men as well -- other men who weren't Dean.

Not turning around, Dean pointed back toward the Roadhouse. "That little girl is here because some demon had me rape her mother. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

"Wait a minute, Dean. That's a big leap you're making," Sam said, jumping to his brother's defense. They'd covered ground like this years ago but never this personally. Never with living, breathing evidence of the event sleeping nearby. "You didn't know."

"Didn't know?!" Dean came off the car, pounding a path back and forth in front of his brother. "That nice, normal girl had enough strength to force her way out from under a fucking demon to speak to me and I was too drunk and turned on from tying her up to understand her."

"Dean—"

"She probably knew I was a hunter from that demon bitch in her brain. She gets out long enough to beg for my help, and what does she find?" Dean looked into Sam's eyes for the first time during his revelation. "Not a savior, that's for sure. She finds some drunk bastard banging her."

"You did stop, remember?

"Oh, yeah, I stopped and when the demon took over again, I just ignored it, and kept on going. I didn't question her, just bought the, 'No I meant don't stop,' lie. How am I going to face that kid?" He was walking away now, toward the road, toward nothing.

Sam caught up to him, tried to keep pace with his brother. "Dean, look, man, I know you. You're not a rapist. Stop!" He reached out to grab Dean's arm and spun him around. "Just stop."

"What would you call it, Sam? Calley sure didn't come to my room, get seduced by my good looks, and fall into bed with me, did she? What happened in that hotel wasn't consensual by a long shot."

"How could you have known, Dean? How?"

"Because I'm a GODDAMN HUNTER, Sam! I'm supposed to be good at this demon detection bullshit! It's been my freakin' JOB twenty-four seven for my whole freakin' life!" Dean started walking again, dust from the road blowing up around his boots.

Sam tried to detour Dean's critical thought process. "Set this whole nonconsensual thing aside for a second and let's focus on the bigger picture here."

"Bigger picture?! That's great. The bigger picture usually means we're gonna overlook the details that suck, right?"

"Right."

Dean kept moving, quickening his pace. "Stop trying to make this sound better by saying 'nonconsensual', Sam. I raped that woman. Take a look at those paintings and you'll see what it did to her, what I did to her!" The sweat was pouring out of him, soaking his shirt completely through.

Sam took advantage of his longer stride to throw himself in front of Dean and stop his escape. "Stop and listen to me for a second!" he shouted, slamming both hands against his brother's shoulders. "Don't you think you're a victim in this, too? The demon did it to you both, Dean. Not just Calley."

"Bullshit! Was I the one tied up with some drunk sweatin' on top of me? NO! I had a great time, Sam. Some hot chick wanted to play rough sex games and I was there. Dream come true, right? Right?"

They stood there for a few seconds, the sun beating down on both of them. All of Dean's confessions were pelting against him, destroying the joy he'd felt from finding Emily. Sam let silence settle around them to cool things before he spoke again.

"You can't undo this, Dean. It's done and it doesn't matter," Sam said, pulling his hands from Dean's shoulders.

"It does mat—"

"It's done and all you can do is find out why she died, who did it, and if they intended to kill Calley or Emily. Period. Calley's dead but Emily's here and if you're going to be her father, you can't stay in the past." Sam watched as Dean seemed to focus more on his words than the nightmare playing over and over in his own mind. "That's what Dad did and it destroyed any chance we had for a normal family. He missed being a real father because of it. Don't do it."

Dean had grabbed hold of both of his temples with one hand, trying to force the painful images out of his mind. At least, he was listening instead of countering Sam's every move.

"You ready to go back? It's hot as hell out here," Sam said, pushing Dean's shoulder to turn him around.

Dean squared his shoulders, trying to reassemble himself, and started walking. After a few seconds, he said, "You know I'd never do that to a woman. I never have. I've put passed out wasted chicks to bed untouched and kicked other guy's asses for messing with women."

"I know."

Changing the subject was his only defense left. As they walked back toward the Roadhouse, Dean said, "We have to go there, to Austin."

"Know that, too."

"I'll ask Ellen if Emily can stay here while we're gone," Dean said, shifting his focus back to Emily. "I don't want her anywhere near there."

He was walking a little straighter now, with more authority, Dean's authority. Whatever grief or shame he was feeling, he'd decided to shove it down and Sam decided to let him have that for now.

"There's this recurring mark Calley put on all her paintings after Emily was born and I'm having Bobby look into it for me. I'll pack up the stuff we have to take with us and make the ID we'll need. We can leave in the morning." Sam said, as they reached the bar.

"Good. I want to stay with her one more night."

"Dean?"

"What?" He had one hand wrapped around the railing, putting off that first step.

"You need to—"

"Go show Emily what a grill master I am," Dean said, forcing a smile and taking a couple of steps at a time. When they got to the door, Dean stopped, turning around to look Sam in the eye.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked, feeling Dean's regret.

"Of all the things we didn't have when we were kids, at least we knew our parents loved each other. That's where we came from."

"Yeah."

He looked back toward the door as if he had to reinvent the truth in his mind before going inside. "I want Emily to have that. I want her to think that's where she came from. Not from…well, you know."

"Understood," Sam nodded in agreement. Whatever Dean decided to tell Emily about her parents was his business and Sam was going to let him have that.

What Sam was going to tell Dean about his own secret was still up in the air. The rational part of Sam Winchester knew that the truth was always better than a lie and that getting that DNA test was necessary. The Sam Winchester that was Dean's brother wasn't so sure. At least, he had a few days before he'd be faced with that decision.

Sam followed his brother back into the bar and closed the door on both subjects for now.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Firefly – Chapter 9

By: Suz Mc

"You see, Emily," Dean said, as if standing in front of a student, "it's not just my superior burger formula that makes the Dean Burger outstandingly awesome." He flipped one of the patties, and looked over at the little girl where she sat on a worn picnic table. "I've carefully devised an arrangement of charcoal that distributes the flames evenly."

"Yeah, Emily, he's an engineering marvel." Sam joined them, pressing a cold beer into Dean's palm and sinking down into a rusty lawn chair. "He invented the pile."

Dean gave Sam a disgusted look, and wiped his forehead. The sun was going down, but it was still hot as blazes to be outside grilling in August. In a few minutes, the Roadhouse would be blocking the sun and he'd finally have some shade.

Picking up a piece of charcoal from a bag on the ground, Dean put it in his palm and held it out to his brother. "Grasshopper, you have much to learn. When you can snatch the charcoal from my hand—"

"Bite me, Grillmaster," Sam said, making a grab for his hand and missing.

"Ha! Five more years in Dean's Temple of Grilling for you, Little Sammy!" Dean said, laughing out loud, then chugging his beer.

It felt good to laugh. After that nightmare at the clinic with Emily and the flood of memories of being with Calley, Dean needed a laugh. The last thing he wanted was for his little girl to pick up on the bad vibes trying to beat their way out of his head. Emily had napped for hours on Ellen's couch and when she woke up, she'd followed him around like a shadow. No talking. No smiling. But she wanted to be close and it felt better than he'd imagined it could.

He'd thought a lot about his Dad today. Being trailed by Emily all afternoon brought back flashes of memories of wandering around behind his Dad at the garage. Memories of his Dad being exhausted and reeking of the great smell of motor oil but stopping everything to let him twist off lug nuts. Memories of the dad John Winchester had wanted to be but couldn't manage to keep alive while he chased demons.

Emily hadn't taken her eyes off him since they'd come outside to start the grill. She sat cross-legged on the table, clutching a juice box, studying him. Over and over, he'd looked into her eyes, wondering what the hell she could be thinking while she stared at him. Was she trying to figure him out? Was she still deciding if she could trust him? Was she wishing he'd suddenly turn into her mother? The last option seemed like the most likely.

An hour earlier, Dean had made a mistake, thinking he could pick her up and sit her on the countertop in Ellen's kitchen. The second he'd slipped his hands under her arms she'd flinched. It was just a reflex on his part that he hadn't thought through. Kid needs a lift, you give her one.

Dean wasn't going to lie to himself and say it didn't hurt, but that melted skin on her arm was ample explanation as to why touching was a terrifying proposition for Emily. A chair shoved up against the cabinets let her climb up on her own and everybody was happy, or at least Emily was happy because she was still making the rules about contact.

"Sam, I think I've found the Winchester who can be trusted to keep the Dean Burger formula secret and not blab it to impress some girl," Dean picked up a spray bottle filled with water and squirted it on a hot spot in the charcoal before it flamed up too high.

"I made one girl dinner when we were fifteen," Sam argued, leaning his head back over the chair. "I didn't realize it was a matter of national security."

"Yep, your Uncle Sammy has a big mouth, huge," Dean said, throwing his words in Emily's direction. "Lucky for me, there's one ingredient he doesn't know so his squeeze only got fake Dean burgers and not the real thing." He closed the top of the grill, and then leaned back against the table beside Emily.

"You are such a liar, Dean." Sam laughed then swallowed another drink. "I've watched you smear that stuff between those patties and stick 'em together a hundred times. It's not a big secret."

"All right, Ninja Chef," Dean said, crossing his arms in front of him. "What's in the mix?"

"You mix butter, onions, and garlic and spread it between two patties and press them together," Sam shot back, looking cocky.

Dean shaped his fingers into the okay sign and then yelled, "Wrong, Sonny Boy! There's one more. The most important ingredient." He leaned over close to Emily's ear. "You know which one he forgot, right, Cutie?"

She was focused on Sam and nodded yes.

"Okay, well, then it's parmesan cheese. That's it," Sam shot back, smiling at Emily as if she could help him figure it out.

They could be any normal family sitting in the backyard on a summer afternoon. Grilling. Laughing about a stupid burger recipe. Normal family had stopped when Dean was four. The recipe was something he'd watched his mother do before Dad got home from the garage and she'd shove the evidence down the garbage disposal. They'd tease Dad because he didn't know the secret and he'd offer Dean candy bars to tell or try to tickle it out of him. Messing with Sammy about it was his way of holding onto that feeling with his mom. It was a link to Mom and when he was older, he still didn't tell his Dad the secret. Sometimes it pissed John off but Dean didn't care. It was his own private memory and he wasn't giving it up.

Now, he had Emily to let in on the secret and it was warm and good and his mom would have loved it, would have loved Emily.

"Was that the secret ingredient, Emily?" Dean said, leaning a little closer to her.

It was a fleeting moment, but she stared hard at Sam and let her mouth tip into the closest thing to a smile she'd had yet. Emily shook her head no, letting a few stray curls drop down onto her forehead.

"Ha! Strike one!" Dean yelled, trying to keep the interaction going and Emily playing along.

Sam picked up on Dean's excitement and tried to do his part. "Help me out here, Em. Is it wet or dry?"

She kept her mouth pinched tight but looked over at Dean.

"Let's give him that one," Dean said, his smile getting bigger. "Dry."

"Crap," Sam whispered, clearly outsmarted. "I guess I'll just have to go dig through the garbage can to figure it out."

"Won't help, smart boy, because I destroyed the evidence."

"Are you kidding me? Is he kidding me, Em?" Sam leaned forward in his chair, waiting for Emily to respond again.

The shadow of a smile came back and she shook her head back and forth more vigorously this time.

"So, every time you do this, you go through that many hoops to keep me from finding out your dumb burger formula?" Sam was pretending to be offended, but trying to keep the conversation going so Emily might join in again.

"See how ugly jealousy can get, Emily? Dumb burger, my ass. You wouldn't think it was so dumb if you could do it, Sammy," Dean said, getting up and heading back to the burgers. "It's just sad, Emily. Life at the top of the food chain can be lonely."

The early bird crowd was beginning to drive up in front of the Roadhouse and the rumble of a big truck rattled the ground. Loud music was blaring through open windows and Dean could hear voices of already rowdy customers. Glancing over toward Emily, he checked to see if she was bothered by the noises, but she seemed not to notice them at all. She'd been here for a while so the disturbance wasn't new and Dean was relieved.

"I hope you're hungry, kid, because—" Dean jerked open the lid a bit too quickly and was greeted by a violent jolt of flame leaping out from the coals. "Damnit!" he yelled, jumping back and grabbing his water bottle.

He was so focused on dousing the flames and saving the Dean Burgers, Sam had to yell at him twice before he heard him.

"Dean, look!"

Sam was pointing toward the tree line and Dean dropped everything in his hands to chase after Emily. She was a good twenty yards in front of him, running as hard as two four-year-old legs could manage. Dust was rising up in a cloud around her as she plowed over uneven ground not leveled after the construction of the new building.

"Emily! Stop!" Dean yelled after the little girl, doubling his pace to catch up with her.

She jumped over a couple of small dirt piles, hair now free from the ribbon that was holding her ponytail in place and waving behind her. When she tried to make another leap, her foot caught against a dry dirt clod and sent her crashing to the ground. Knees hit the dirt first, and then outstretched hands, then belly and head.

Two strides behind her, Dean wasn't able to catch her before she connected with the ground. Jumping in front of her tiny body as it lay in the dirt, he didn't think or hesitate, just bent over and grabbed Emily under the arms.

"It's just the fire in the grill, Cutie. I'm sorry it scared you," he said, pulling her up into the air. In the split second when he expected her to freak out and fight against the contact, Emily threw her arms around his neck and wrapped herself around him, squeezing desperately.

Dean closed his arms around her body, holding on tight, and began walking back toward Sam. Emily's heartbeat pounded against his chest like a wild bird trying to escape. Her breath came in panicked gasps and he understood what that burst of flame had rekindled in her mind. Dean stroked her back and began whispering into her ear to calm her down. Sweat was dripping from underneath her hair and he pulled it to the side to cool her off.

But he was holding her in his arms and she was letting him.

It felt wrong to be so glad that she was hugging him since it had only happened because of her fear, but Dean couldn't help it. Emily's arms were clasped together around his neck like a drowning child grasping at driftwood to stay afloat.

Sam had walked out to meet them and leaned over to inspect the little girl's dirty knees. "I think you've got a couple of knees to take care of," he said, looking Dean in the eye and patting Emily's back only once.

"Yeah," Dean said, looking down to find two bloody skinned knees at his sides. "We better go inside and take care of this."

"I got this," Sam said, pointing toward the grill. "Go take care of her and I'll come get you when the burgers are done."

"Hear that, Cutie Pie?" Dean said, still being clutched by a terrified child. "Uncle Sammy's gonna try to be the chef? Maybe it's time he pulled his weight around the grill." As he walked away, Dean threw a look back at his brother and mouthed a thank you his way.

Once they were safely inside Ellen's kitchen, Dean fished around under the sink for the first aid kit. Managing the search while being crushed by a little girl around his neck was a struggle but eventually he found the red box and set it on the countertop. Balancing Emily's backside on the edge of the cabinet, Dean tried to put her down only to have her grip him more fiercely.

For a few moments, he stopped trying to move her and just let them both rest there together. "Emily, I'm going to be right here but I need to look at those knees, okay?" he said, rubbing her back and feeling her relax just a bit.

Finally, she let go and Dean got a good look at her face. The dust had left a fine coating on her cheeks and long streaks left behind by the tears dug deep through the dirt. He could almost see the flames burning in her eyes as the memory replayed through her mind. With a damp dishtowel, Dean cleaned her up, wiping the dirt off her face and arms. Her t-shirt just needed a few pats to brush the dust away. After he checked the bandage covering her burn to be sure no blood was seeping through, he was free to deal with the skinned knees.

There were no barriers between them now and Emily didn't flinch at his touch. Dean opened up the bottle of peroxide and swung her legs across the sink. "When your Uncle Sammy was about your size," he said, getting ready to start cleaning and disinfecting her wound, "I think he bled at least once every day." He gently touched the spot where her skin had rubbed off with a damp cloth and she jumped a little but didn't pull away.

"With all that experience, Cutie Pie, I'm an expert at skinned knees." He held up the bottle but before pouring it over the cuts, Dean tipped up her face with a finger and asked, "You ready?"

Emily nodded up and down and Dean went to work. After the cuts were bubbled and dried, he dug out a couple of Band-Aids from the box. "This isn't going to work," he said, grabbing a pen from beside the telephone. Quickly, he drew two smiley faces on the plain brown bandages. "I'm not the artist you are, but how's that?" Dean handed her one to hold while he fixed the other over one knee. When he looked up from his repair job, Emily was holding the other Band-Aid out to him.

Once the other wound was covered, the little girl practically leapt into Dean's arms again. This time, the embrace was less in fear and more for comfort. Her head leaned down on his shoulder and he had to stand still for a few seconds and simply absorb how amazing it felt. For so long, after he came back from damnation, he felt too filthy to touch, the blackness inside him too big to ever be exorcised. Now, he had pure innocence in his arms, so bright and powerful it could clean it all away. In this moment, with Emily's arms around him, needing him, he felt worthy. He was going to hold onto it, to her.

"I know where we should go," Dean said, bouncing her a bit in his arms as Emily pushed her hand under the edge of his sleeve to touch his branded skin.

Walking out the side door, Dean moved them onto the porch surrounding the Roadhouse. Almost around the corner was a big wooden rocker and Dean moved it around so that they could still watch the crowd coming into the bar but they were mostly out of sight. As he folded back into the rocking chair, Dean turned Emily around to face the parking lot, propped his boot against the railing and began to rock back and forth.

He rocked quietly for a long time, silently processing Emily's change toward him. The satisfaction he felt from her acceptance filled him up more than he imagined it would. Yes, they were still in the middle of a dangerous situation that couldn't be settled until he and Sam got to the bottom of what killed Calley. He was a dad with a little girl and he knew nothing about little girls. He had to deal with what he remembered doing to his child's mother. Something could be after Emily and he had to stay sharp and vigilant. All of that was deadly serious business.

But right now, he was just going to rock Emily and breathe.

Emily's body had completely relaxed and there was no more frantic heartbeat making her tremble. She'd cooled off and was intently watching the customers come into the bar. Emily had pulled a necklace out from behind her shirt and was gently rubbing the pendant at the end of a silver chain.

Carefully, Dean eased his finger up to touch the necklace. He'd noticed the chain under the neck of her shirt but hadn't seen the whole thing. "Can I see?" he asked, gently pulling the pendant into his hand as she let go.

The crystal cross was small but covered with intricate facets, catching the fading sunlight and sparkling against his fingers. It was edged in silver and dangled from a short silver chain. This wasn't some dollar store trinket and must have been bought for a special occasion.

"I bet your mom gave you this, right?" he asked, as Emily pulled the necklace back into her little hand. She nodded again.

"See this?" Dean pulled his amulet from inside his own shirt, as Emily turned to look. "Sammy gave me this when we were little boys. And, I'll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell." He paused, smiling at the dark brown eyes focused on his every word. "This means more to me than anything I own because my brother gave it to me." Emily was holding the oddly shaped figure, turning it back and forth. Dean picked up her cross and balanced it on his finger. "See, things like this can be powerful on their own but it's who gave it to you and how it made you feel that really makes it strong."

The sun was going down and the darkness had settled in the tree line. Under the steady rumble of the cars and music, low night sounds were beginning to build from the woods around them. From the corner of Dean's eye, he caught a small flash, just a blink of light.

"Hey, Emily," he said, turning her slightly so she wouldn't miss it. "Fireflies. See?"

Two blinking lights were now floating in front of them and Emily held out her hand to touch them. One more floating light joined the first two.

"If we had a jar, you could catch them and make your own nightlight."

Emily's hand was open and the three fireflies were buzzing around her palm. Then there were four, drifting over her hand, circling.

"Look at that," Dean said, amazed at how the fireflies were drawn to her hand. "They must like you, Cutie."

Cupping her hands together, Emily created a small circle of light in her palms as the tiny bugs bounced around inside. Then, the child spread her fingers open and flicked the fireflies away. The lights scattered into the settling darkness.

Creaking boards behind the rocking chair drew Dean's attention and Sam was suddenly there, crouching down beside the chair. "Burgers are ready," Sam said, looking oddly serious.

"Did you see that? Emily had her own personal light show," Dean said, easing Emily out of his lap.

"Yeah, I saw," Sam said. He opened his mouth again, as if he were going to say more but stopped.

Dean was out of the chair, stretching his arms over his head. "Dude," he leaned over, doing his best Heath Ledger, "why so serious?"

Sam looked down at Emily, as she leaned against Dean's leg. Things had changed. There was no space between them and she was clinging to his side. The look on her face wasn't twisted and frightened anymore. She had decided to let Dean into her world. Maybe she could feel that he was as broken as she was and that common ground made him acceptable. That much, he was happy for, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something else troubling was going on around Emily.

"Dude? Something wrong?" Dean asked, shaking Sam away from his thoughts.

Returning a smile to his face, Sam answered. "No, nothing. Let's eat. I'm starving."

Dean smiled, looking down as Emily grabbed tightly to his hand and walked beside him to the backyard. "Let's go before Sasquatch eats all the Dean burgers."

***

"Are you sure she should be down here, Dean?"

Sam was leaning against the end of the bar beside his brother with Emily propped up between them. The little girl seemed to be enjoying the noise and the music, even though she wasn't showing it by any expression strangers could read. After an afternoon spent almost exclusively with her dad and two huge hamburgers, the tense, bound twist of her features had relaxed. Emily seemed content, as long as she was touching her father in some way.

"Don't be such a downer, Sam," Dean said, grinning over at Emily. "She slept all afternoon and the rough crowd left thirty minutes ago."

Dean was right. There had been a few hardasses in earlier but they'd left. All that remained were a handful of guys at the pool table and a few girls doing alcohol soaked ZZ Top cover tunes on the karaoke machine.

"Oh my god!!! She is soooooo cute!" Two of the karaoke girls had rushed up to the bar for more beer and noticed Emily. "Let's go do her a song," screeched one singer wearing a t-shirt that read "Come Party With Bridezilla."

"Come with us!" shouted the other girl whose t-shirt read "Maid of Dishonor" as she grabbed Sam's hand and tried to drag him over.

"Uh, thanks but—" Sam's refusal was pointless as the two girls dragged him across the room and plopped him down in a chair in front of their makeshift stage.

Dean busted out laughing as the bride to be launched into "Sharp Dressed Man" using a key that could be breaking glass on Mars. Sam was surrounded by other drunken singers dressed in "Bitchin' Bridesmaids" shirts, who were clearly using him for a prop. One had taken a seat on his lap.

Still laughing, Dean leaned over to Emily and said, "Looks like your Uncle Sammy's made some new friends."

Ellen eased up behind the bar and slid a bowl of pretzels beside Emily. "The girls are harmless," she laughed.

"Hope not," Dean said, grabbing a handful of pretzels and handing a couple to Emily. "Sammy's in need of a little damage."

Two of the girls were amusing themselves by running their hands through Sam's hair. He tried to get up, only to be pressed back down by two more bridesmaids. "I'm Here For The Party" was the next tune up and Sam wasn't going anywhere.

"Should I go rescue him?" Ellen asked, grinning at Sam being held captive by a wild bachlorette party.

"Don't you dare!" Dean shouted over the music. "We're having a great time watching, aren't we?" He patted Emily's hand. She was focused on the girls surrounding Sam and tapping her finger on the bar in time to the music.

After about thirty minutes of pretzel eating and watching Sammy judge the karaoke contest, Dean was about to take Emily upstairs when a new crowd arrived through the front door.

Three men, who Dean remembered seeing years ago in the first Roadhouse incarnation, strolled in through the front door. They were hunters. Dean could read that much, simply from the way they moved and scanned the room before coming completely inside.

The rowdy girls continued their party undisturbed as the three guys crossed the room. As they got closer, Dean locked eyes with the man in the center of the group. He wasn't the biggest of the crew, but he had the most attitude and a hand stitched wound on his neck that looked to be only a few hours old.

Trying in vain to remember the man's name, Dean did remember that he wasn't a fan of his from the days after the Devil's Gate fiasco. Each man looked dirty and worn in his own way but all three were so full of whiskey they wreaked.

Dean took Emily off the bar and was moving to leave when the man called to Ellen from the center of the room. "So, you entertaining Winchesters again, Ellen? Gonna let them burn down this bar, too?" He folded his arms, taking a stand in front of Dean.

Sam was out of his chair and moving toward his brother.

"Drake, I told you last time not to come in here making trouble for anybody or you were out for good," Ellen said, coming out from behind the bar.

Drake's eyes focused on the little girl in Dean's arms and huffed an unpleasant laugh. "Looks like you've made another one, huh, boy? Another freakin' Winchester. You gonna train her to open up Hell and set more demons on our asses like her ole man and Hellboy over there?"

"Why don't you and your girlfriends there have a beer and calm down?" Dean said, holding Emily a bit tighter.

"You think we've all forgotten how you and your freak brother almost turned us all over to Hell?" Drake took a wobbly step forward and Sam moved closer to his brother.

"Back off," Sam said, putting himself more in front of Emily.

"You forget they're the ones who stopped it, Drake, and demons burned down my bar, not them," Ellen said, reaching over to take Emily out of Dean's arms. The little girl resisted, holding on tighter, until Dean whispered something in her ear and put her into Ellen's arms.

"Get her out of here, Ellen," Dean said, squaring off in front of Drake. "This prick isn't interested in a history lesson."

The two men flanking Drake spread apart a bit, preparing to cover more ground.

"Most real hunters aren't swallowing that Winchester hero bullshit, Ellen," Drake growled at her. "Bunch of traitorous freaks, that's all. Between these two and their dad, they've left enough dead HUMAN bodies to fill a boxcar. Wasn't your ole man one of 'em?"

"Get out of my place, Drake," Ellen gave the order while taking herself and Emily behind the bar. Reaching under the counter, she pulled out a baseball bat and slid it over the bar to Sam.

"Go, Ellen," Sam said, "We got this." He held the bat down by his side, getting a more solid grip for a swing.

Before Ellen could move, Emily began to struggle, trying to get free and go back to Dean. Ellen wrapped her arms more firmly around the little girl, and she started walking toward the exit. Clearly, from the way she wiggled, Emily wanted to stay but Ellen kept moving. As they reached the door to the stairs, a neon tube decorating the large karaoke machine blew, sending the wasted bridesmaids squealing out the exit.

When the door closed behind Ellen and Emily, Dean put all of his focus on the new enemy. "Drake, you and your fudgepacker buddies go somewhere else before you get your asses kicked!"

"I don't take orders from freaks, Winchester." Drake began rolling up his sleeve. "You think we believe that 'angel dragged you out of Hell' story?" Drake looked back and forth to his cronies. "What demon did you blow to make it back topside, Boy?"

"Same one your mama did." Dean was grinning. Sam wasn't.

Drake shook his head and huffed an unpleasant laugh. "Good one. Nice." He focused on Sam, who tightened his grip on the bat. "Word got around about you and what you were doin' while Dean here was roasting," Drake said, eyeing Sam then looking back to Dean. "Heard your little brother screwed a demon. That how you got that kid, Dean? You fuckin' demon whores now, too? Maybe we should hunt all three of you bast--"

When Dean threw his fist, Sam could have sworn he heard the sound barrier breaking. It wasn't his common punch to the jaw. Dean's wide knuckles connected with the puckered, stitched wound on Drakes neck, splitting it open and spraying blood over both of them. Drake hit the floor with one knee, grabbing his neck and reaching for Dean with his other hand.

The larger of Drake's sidekicks went for his back and Sam slammed his arm with the bat. The sound of his bones breaking mingled with a scream and he joined Drake on the floor.

Dean had Drake by his bloody collar, lifting the man's face into his fist as he pounded him again and again.

The sound of a shotgun being cocked pulled Sam's attention away from disarming the man he'd sent to the floor. Jake, the bartender who talked even less than Emily, had the weapon leveled at Drake's other cohort and he motioned for him to drop the curved blade he'd pulled from his belt.

No one was stopping Dean and he'd switched from battering Drake with his fist, to kicking him across the floor with his boot. Five minutes earlier, Dean had been the perfect picture of a fun-loving dad. Now, he was as vicious as Sam had ever seen him in a fight. Drake was drunk and had obviously already tangled with something else earlier and he was no match for the explosion he'd ignited.

"Dean! That's enough!" Sam made a grab for Dean's arm, trying to drag him away.

"Get up, you loudmouth bastard!" Dean yanked himself away from Sam's grip, hauling Drake up from the floor by his bloody collar. Drake's body connected with the wall, his head bouncing against the wood. Blood was pulsing out of the man's torn wound, drenching his shirt.

"You're going to kill him! It's not worth it." Sam had a firm hold on Dean's arm this time and that seemed to break through his brother's rage. Drake had chosen the wrong nerve to stand on tonight and he was paying the price.

Dean spat his words into Drake's bloody face. "I don't give a rat's ass what you think of me or my brother but you threaten my family again…" Dean swallowed another gulp of his anger before finishing his thought to the nearly unconscious man. "I catch you breathing the same air as my daughter, and you're a fucking dead man. Got it?"

"He understands, Dean," Sam said, trying to pry Dean off the man's chest. "Let him go."

"Fine," Dean growled in Drake's face, giving him one more slam against the wall before letting his body slide down to the floor. Turning to Drake's companions, he said, "Be smart and get him as far away from here as you can."

Rage still blasting through his body, Dean pounded out of the room. Sammy had his back, lagging behind to make sure the three men left. Jake's shotgun would help with that.

_You fuckin' demon whores now, too?_

Dean slammed his hand against the door to Ellen's kitchen and noticed his bloody knuckles. He had halfway decided to turn back around, head to the parking lot and neuter Drake for what he'd said. Drake had lumped Emily in with his hatred for anything Winchester and that was more than Dean could stomach.

He was turning around when Emily rushed in from the other side of the room.

Dean knelt down in front of her, settling his rage to the back of his mind. "I'm sorry that jerk ruined our fun," he said, reading the uncertainty all over her face. "He won't be bothering us anymore." It was taking a great effort to shed the anger still pulsing through his body.

Two small hands picked up his bloody fist and studied it for a moment. Pulling with all of her four-year-old might, Emily dragged her father to the sink.

"You're right, I need to clean this up." Dean let her bring him to the sink but while he started the water running, Emily tore open the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit herself. One-handed, she shoved a chair over beside Dean and climbed up.

She was determined and focused when she grabbed his injured hand from under the water, held it over the drain, and opened the peroxide bottle. She looked up at him before pouring, and Dean couldn't hold in his laughter.

"I'm ready, Nurse. Let it rip," he said, watching her carefully pour the liquid over his knuckles and then blow as if she didn't want it to sting while it bubbled. Grabbing a dishtowel, she blotted the wound dry. After staring at her work, Emily bent down and gave his hand a quick kiss.

"That was awesome," Dean said, lifting her up and kissing her on the cheek, careful to avoid holding her against the side of his shirt stained with Drake's blood. "Sammy can handle stitches and dislocated shoulders and you can be my number one knuckle doctor."

Then she smiled at him. It was quick. Like someone using a long disabled muscle and not wanting to cause a strain. But it was there for a second or two and that was a start.

***

Ellen had great beds. The thought was floating around Dean's head as he faded to black. Everything was slowly draining out of his mind in the comfort of a soft bed. It had taken him a long time to settle down after the bar fight downstairs. Not only did Emily have a new family to get used to, but she also had to share their enemies. Emily trying to tend his busted knuckles soon doused all that anger. It made him smile as he began to doze off.

The nothing of sleep almost had him when a coolness against his back began to drag him away from the comfort. One handed, he dragged the covers closer to his back but the cold remained.

There was something solid pressed against him and his eyes popped open when he registered it as a body. As he jerked back to complete consciousness, Dean heard a choked sob behind him.

"Emily?"

He turned quickly and came face to face with Calley Rail.

Shock briefly paralyzed him as he took in the horror lying beside him in bed. Calley was naked under the sheets, hands stretched over her head and tied to the headboard. She was pale and terrified, shaking so badly it moved the entire bed.

"Please help me, Dean." Her voice was that same frail sound he'd remembered from his drunken night with her body.

"Jesus, Calley!" He grabbed the blade he kept under his pillow. "My God, I'm sorry," he said, reaching over to saw the rope in half.

She gasped as he brought her arms down in front of her and he couldn't stop saying he was sorry, over and over again.

"It hurts," she moaned and she cried as he frantically unwound the ropes looped around her wrists. The skin underneath was red and bruised and her fingers were twisted with pain as the feeling returned. Dean held her wrists, trying to help ease the pain.

Whether this was a dream or reality didn't matter. It didn't matter if Calley was in his mind or a spirit in his bed. The woman he'd hurt, the mother of his child was here in his bed suffering and he had to fix it. Quickly, he slipped his arm under her shoulders, trying to get her warm.

"I'm sorry, Calley." He said it again and she leaned against his bare shoulder, still shaking.

"I know," she said, gulping through sobs. "It's not your fault."

He looked at her more closely in the dim bedroom lighting.

Soft blonde hair curled around her face, just like Emily's. She was tiny and she felt so light in his arms she was barely there at all. There were bruises on her arms and neck and he could feel rough scratches across the skin on her back as he held her closer.

"Did I do that to you? Is that why you're here?" Why shouldn't she be an angry spirit? Burned alive. Beaten and violated by men she didn't know. It would be a miracle if this woman could rest in peace.

"No," she whispered, bringing her hand up to his face. "You were the only man she brought me to who wouldn't finish the beating she wanted." Calley turned her face up toward him. "That's how I knew you'd help me."

"But I didn't and I'm sorry," Dean said again, soaking up her sad face. She looked so fragile and he realized how terribly young she was when that demon bitch had delivered her over to him. That's how he was seeing her now, the way she'd been that night. He felt her clinging to him, almost as if she'd float away if she didn't hold on to his body. Dean wrapped his arms around her more firmly, trying to make her feel safe.

"I wasn't strong enough to stay out longer. It's not your fault," she whispered. "I tried to get to you, when I knew she was after us. I knew you'd keep Emily safe."

"Who is it, Calley? Give me a name so I can keep Emily safe."

She was sobbing again. He could feel the tears running across his skin. "It had been so long…I thought we were safe…she was gone, days after you and Beaumont…ripped out of me… I was free of her..."

Her thoughts were rambling and he was desperate to keep her talking, thinking. "Calley, I know you were scared, but you've got to try to focus so I can help Emily."

"I'm trying to stay but it's so hard," Calley's voice sounded thin, like someone freezing to death. "I knew you'd be strong enough to save her if I couldn't. The demon knew about you, so I did, too. That's why she has your name. You have to be her father. You just have to be. Please."

"I am her father, Calley. I am." He said the words against her hair, eyes shut tight, not wanting to think too carefully about what she'd said. He didn't have to be Emily's father. He was Emily's father. Period. Dean pulled her face back and held it with one hand. Her eyes were wild and frightened, searching his face for any kind of help. "You're strong, Calley. You took on that bitch twice. You saved Emily. Talk to me."

"If I had to go back…if I knew how it would end…" She was crying again, tears streaming down ice-cold cheeks. "I wouldn't trade those four years with my baby for anything. She's so precious…healed me…I love her so much..."

"I know, Calley. She's safe with me. I swear I'll protect her," he said, trying to calm her down again. "Tell me who did this to you. Do you know her name?"

"Amora." She shuddered as if speaking the name sent fresh pain coursing through her body. "I tried to keep her away but I messed it up. Thought I knew how from the book…someone gave us up…followers.." She gasped as another wave of pain rippled through her, shaking them both. "It hurts more. The longer I try to stay. Burns."

"Amora? Is that the demon's name?" Dean watched the suffering twist Calley's delicate features as she fought against the building agony.

"Yes…she won't stop…don't let her hurt Emily…made her a child of light and fire," she begged.

"What does that mean, Calley? Try to focus."

Her bruised hand slipped down to his neck as she lost the energy to hold it against his cheek. "I'm so tired, Dean. I can't—" Calley's head collapsed on his chest, and she cried out this time.

"Okay, okay," Dean whispered to her, trying to ease her through the phantom pain that was tearing her apart. She'd given him the name. The name was enough and he could find out the rest from there.

"I'm so tired," Calley whispered, as he cradled her body closer to his chest. He'd caused so much pain, pain in this life, pain in Hell. Years and miles between Dean and those nightmares had helped him make peace with those sins. Now, he had to make peace with this one. He had to do the one thing he could to help Calley.

With one hand stroking her hair and the other holding her close to his chest, Dean let himself love her.

He only knew this woman from words, from pictures, and from the last few minutes lying with her in bed. But he loved Emily and what was inside Emily had come from her mother so how could he not love her, too?

Calley's breath was coming in weaker and weaker gasps and she was holding her spirit here by her fingernails. Dean kissed her forehead and said, "Calley, you deserve to rest now. You've done all you can do. I'll take it from here. It's okay to let go."

"Promise me she'll be happy and safe and you'll tell her about me. Please?" The words were almost inaudible, breathed out with exhaustion and desperation.

"I promise."

"She likes music…'True Colors' favorite song…blue Koolaid not purple…princesses everywhere…"

The words were coming out in chilled gasps against his skin as Calley forced out the last messages about her child. She'd be willing to stay and suffer but it was her time to go. She was close, but not willing to jump and he'd have to show her how.

"Calley, open your eyes for a second. Do you see a light?"

It took all of the energy she had to raise her head to look around the room, and then she laid her head back against his body. "Over at the door. It's so beautiful."

"Reach out to it when you're ready." He swallowed hard, holding her close one more time. "There's no more pain, no more fear. Nothing but peace."

Pulling herself upward, Calley pressed her lips against his and reached out toward the light with one hand. Dean had to close his eyes as the light wrapped around Calley's body and brushed against him before taking her with it. He'd seen souls go into the light before but he'd never felt it touch his body. For a brief moment, he saw her smile, an expression of perfect bliss, bliss so strong he could feel it soak into his own body as Calley crossed over.

He jerked himself upright in bed, the sudden aloneness hard to bear. One second she'd been with him, close and needing him and the next the room was empty. For a few moments, he just lay there, perfectly still, with the quiet pressing down against him. When he forced himself to move, his body rattled from the inside out. One thing he knew was that he couldn't stay in this room another second with Calley's agony still rattling around in the dark. He had to move and he swung his feet to the floor.

Crossing quickly toward the door, he made his way across the hall to Emily's door. She was splayed over the covers, dead to the world and peaceful. It struck him as painfully sad that Calley had chosen to come to him instead of Emily in her last moments on earth. She did it to save her, again, but now Emily was truly motherless. No human mother, no spirit hanging around to watch her grow up.

He'd told Sam that children should know they came from love, like John and Mary. If it was possible to learn to love someone in those few minutes, he could make it true for Emily, too. He'd never know Calley completely, but he knew the good and loving parts of her, the brave part, the strong part that could have easily done away with Emily before she was born but chose a child's life over her own fear. Calley could have saved herself in that burning apartment. Calley could have let go and moved on to bliss and no pain but she stayed to give him information to protect their child.

And he loved her for that. He could tell Emily that he loved her mother and it wouldn't be a lie.

Quietly, Dean closed Emily's door intending to wake Sam and tell him what Calley had said. His knuckles were ready to rap on the door, and he stopped himself. Things were simply to close too the surface now. Morning would be soon enough.

Unable to face going back to his room, Dean grabbed the banister and went downstairs to think for a while.

**

Something jerked Sam's arm and he jolted awake. He pulled his arm away, trying to focus, trying to think where the closest weapon was to each free hand.

A frightened sob reordered his senses and he looked down to see two big brown eyes staring at him from beside the bed.

"What? Emily, what's wrong?" Sam gave his brain a shake and threw back the covers.

Emily looked frantic, her lip was trembling and she grabbed at the side of the bed to get his attention. She took hold of his wrist, trying to drag him to the door.

Not resisting, Sam got out of bed and followed. "I'm coming, Sweetie. Show me what's wrong."

She was pulling him through the dark, her tiny hand shaking as she held on. Emily's hand felt hot, almost tingling and Sam reached out to touch her forehead, expecting to find a fever but she was moving too fast for him to connect. They reached Dean's room and Sam pushed the door fully open. His brother was nowhere to be found and Emily rushed over to his bed and patted the side where Dean should have been sleeping at two-thirty in the morning.

"You're looking for Dean?" Sam took in the empty bed then checked the bathroom, which was also empty. "I'm sure he just went downstairs. Let's go—"

Emily's face was terrified and Sam could almost feel the fear rumbling through her body. She was so lost it was painful to watch. Before he could reach her, Emily took off running out into the hallway.

She was fast and he was still sleepy and half a step behind her by the time the little girl hit the hardwood in the hall. It was dark and Sam was afraid that if she got to the stairs, she'd fall.

"Wait, Emily!" Sam called behind her. He got to the hallway just in time to see her four-year-old body fling itself up into Dean's arms.

Dean was almost to the top of the stairs and was gripping the railing tightly to hold them both in place. He had one hand wrapped around Emily's body and was slowly making it up the last couple of stairs.

"What happened?" he asked, looking to Sam for answers, and then stroking Emily's back. "It's okay, Cutie. I'm here."

"I think she woke up and when she didn't find you in your room, she got scared," Sam answered, moving out of the way so Dean could walk by him.

Sam watched Dean be Emily's father. He was holding Emily tightly against his chest and her hand had crept across her father's shoulder to rest on the handprint branded there. It was an amazing thing to see.

"I'm sorry you were scared, Cutie Pie," Dean said quietly, rubbing the back of her nightgown to soothe her.

Sam followed them into Emily's room. Dean carried her over to stand by the window, rocking her body back and forth in the moonlight. He was carrying around a lot more than a little girl but he seemed more content than he had in years, standing in the dark, holding a scared, wounded child. It was hard to tell who needed who more.

Emily's eyes began to droop and she was just a few movements away from sleep. Sam joined his brother at the window. "You shouldn't leave her, Dean," Sam whispered. "I'll go to Austin tomorrow alone."

"I don't like the idea of you going without backup. Bad idea," Dean said, keeping his voice low.

"She can't spare you right now and we can't take her with us," Sam said, trying to do what he could to help his brother. "Let me do this for you, Dean, for both of you."

Emily was now fully relaxed, lips open just a touch, breathing deeply in sleep. Dean leaned his head against her hair, closing his eyes in thought.

"Okay," Dean said, giving in to Sam's offer. "But I need to talk to you before you go."

Sam nodded, quietly leaving his brother to tend to the more important business of helping a little girl sleep through the night.

When he returned to his room, Sam was greeted by the rude sound of his cellphone blasting through darkness. Quickly, he yanked his jeans from the floor and fumbled through the pockets until he found the noisemaker.

"Bobby?" Sam said, trying to keep his voice in more of a three a.m. tone. It wasn't out of character to get a call back from Bobby Singer at some ungodly hour of the night. Bobby didn't operate in the same time zone as other people. If you asked for information, he'd be passing it on the second he found it.

"Hey, Sam. Sorry 'bout the time but you said it was urgent." Bobby's tone was more suited to three p.m. and Sam shut his door to keep the conversation private.

"No problem," Sam answered, taking a seat on his bed. "What did you find?"

The sound of paper rattling made its way through the phone. "Did you tell me this symbol was done by a painter? An artist?"

"Yeah, she was."

"And we're thinking some demon was after her?"

"And got her, actually," Sam replied, keeping the unnecessary details to himself. Dean wasn't ready to start spilling the new family secret about his daughter just yet.

"Okay, this damn thing was new to me, too, and it's heap big mojo. This girl either got lucky or had some demon intel I've never come across. I had to cast a pretty wide net and call in a few favors to pin this down."

"What is it Bobby? What does it mean?"

"At first I thought it was some sort of identification mark, like a big 'I heart demons' sign. But it's not. This thing is one of the most powerful symbols I've come across to ward off a demon."

"Like the tattoos?"

"Kinda, but this thing is demon specific."

"For a particular kind of demon?"

"No, that's kindergarten demonology compared to this. This mark is so far back B.C. a Way Back machine wouldn't get you there. It's designed to repel a specific Demon. If it's on you, it can't possess you. The demon can't cross it and can't enter a house marked with it. If this particular demon even touches it, it'll freakin' explode."

"Well, that's great but it evidently doesn't work because the woman using it is toast now, thanks to said demon."

"Ah, what I was about to say was that this thing works but there are catches."

"Always."

"First, you have to know the name of the demon to translate into the symbols around the circle and those bastards can be pretty protective of their true names."

"Can you make out the name, Bobby?"

"Not quite there yet but I'm workin' on it. Got a book on the way to help. But that's not all. Next, you have to have touched the demon and include a drop of your blood in the paint used to render the mark."

"Would possession count as touching?"

"Duh."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"But the final kicker is that this mark has to be perfect. I mean completely perfect. Proportions, curves, edges, angle, thickness of lines, everything. I'm talking nearly computer reproduction perfect."

"The kind of perfect an artist could manage?"

"Exactly and from what I saw in the pics you sent, this girl had the touch. The marks were perfect and if she was using this for protection from this demon, it should have worked." Bobby's voice had taken on the manic, excitable cadence of a man long on coffee and short on sleep. "By the way, just how did you two stumble across this case from up at Ellen's?"

Sam thought through the list of facts and culled the unnecessary information. Dean could tell Bobby the full story when he felt it was the right time. "Calley was someone Dean knew a while back." Lies of omission were always best when bagged up with a touch of the truth.

"Sorry to hear that," Bobby said, falling silent for a moment. "I suppose you're planning on going after the demon?"

"I'm heading to Austin in the morning for a closer look."

"What about Dean? He holed up in bed with some girl and leaving you the heavy lifting?"

Dean was holed up in bed with some girl. A four-year-old girl who'd been scared mute and couldn't make it through the night without a panic attack.

"He's got something else to take care of right now so I'm taking this one," Sam said, detouring the conversation.

"Be careful, Sam," Bobby said, putting on a more fatherly persona. "If Dean's friend needed something this powerful for protection, this ain't your run of the mill smoke bomb. If I had the name, I could tell you more."

"Thanks, Bobby. I'll call you if I get that name."

"I'll keep looking, kid. Keep it between the ditches."

"You now it."

Sam clicked the phone shut. Stretching out over the bed, he closed his eyes and tried to process Bobby's information. Calley had seen this coming and had put up a fight. Even the best make mistakes. One error in one symbol could have been enough, but it still didn't make sense. She was too good an artist to blow her most important work when Emily's life was at stake.

He rolled over into the blanket, forcing he's eyes closed. Austin, Texas was a long drive on your own.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Firefly – Chapter 10

By: Suz Mc

Three hours of sleep was a good number. He'd gotten by with less than that before. Dean should have stayed upstairs, sacked out with Emily and the princesses, but every time he'd managed to doze off, Calley's face was there begging him to get his ass back to work. She wasn't going to give up so he'd eased himself out from under Emily's grip, and then went to his room to get showered and dressed. Dean had kicked himself for not making sure she was settled the first time before he left her. This time, he was sure Emily was sleeping deeply enough to last so it was time to satisfy the remnants of Emily's mother still calling in his head.

"Resistance is futile, huh, Calley?" he said out loud, tapping the keys on Ellen's computer.

Sam was still snoring like crazy when he'd walked past his room to come downstairs so Dean had left him there. Little brother was going above and beyond to help him get to the bottom of Calley's death. Sam's life was going to change as drastically as Dean's and sooner or later, they would have to jump into a deep discussion about those changes.

The chair at Ellen's desk was pretty sweet and for a second or ten, Dean closed his eyes while waiting for the machine to boot. Losing sleep when you had adrenaline rushes to compensate during a hunt was one thing, but full time kid maintenance was a whole new animal of exhaustion. Of everything Dean had learned in the past couple of days as a dad, one of the most startling revelations was that John Winchester deserved a freaking break from everybody's never ending bitching about his parenting skills. The man's wife burned up before his eyes, he didn't have a clue to explain it, he was stuck with a four-year-old and an infant and was on his own, twenty-four seven. Their dad made a mess of their childhood, but he could have dumped them and taken off into the sunset to follow his obsession. He didn't. Dad kept them together. That had to count for something.

Dean had decided to officially give John Winchester a pass.

An annoying ping signaled Dean's eyelids to open when the screen came to life. He leaned closer to the desk, trying to avoid the padded comfort of Ellen's chair so he could focus. Without hesitating, his fingers led him to the gallery website. Calley's paintings were still there, the beautiful and the inexplicably disturbing side by side.

His intention was to get a closer look at the mark Calley had painted on Emily's portraits. But he didn't go to those paintings. The smoky, violent images of Calley's descent into torment sucked him in and he couldn't help but get lost in them. He could still feel her touching him, he could hear her pleading with him for help, he could see her wrists tied and bruised and the sting of it wrapped around his skin.

When he'd seen the paintings before, Dean had stopped looking when the remembering started. Now, he owed it to her to look. He'd been part of the torture. He should damn sure try to piece together the story for her.

Depravity seemed to sell. As Dean found the section for the Rare Calley Rail Smoke Period paintings, he found only two still marked as available. According to the gallery listings, there had been a bloody bidding war for the others but these were still on the battlefield. Collectors were lined up to put little pieces of Calley's torment on their walls.

Demons torturing humans could be reasoned. They were fucking demons, after all. What human beings did to each other defied understanding. Rich bastards were taking the most terrifying moments of another human being's life and tacking them up on their walls to brag about to other rich people. Even if they didn't know the particulars of the horror movie Calley had put on canvas, any idiot could see they were about brutality and fear. What twisted soul would want that hanging in their living room? It was sickening and Dean wanted to translate the map of destruction Calley had left for him to follow from those canvases, then hunt each painting down and burn it so no one could get their perverted jollies from her pain.

Calley only showed pieces of herself in each painting, never a face, just disembodied parts of herself being used. Maybe that was her survival mechanism, detachment from the reality she was forced to feel and watch from inside herself. He'd borrowed a page or two from that playbook himself. In the unbearable agony of Hell, he'd retreat into a place where he was a watcher instead of piece of meat. Then, they'd see what he was up to, like his head was transparent as glass, and do something pleasant like show him Sam shooting himself in the head and they'd have his full attention again.

Dean ordered the pieces by date, walking through each nightmare with Calley. He hated those men using her, and then he remembered he was one of them and it was just too heavy to take on and still keep thinking. With a great effort, he shoved those feelings to the back of his head to be killed with some whiskey later on in the bar.

The last three paintings wrapped up Calley's violent encounter with a demon. The night at Getty's watching Dean hunched over the pool table. A dingy motel room with Dean's hands digging into her waist. His hands were rougher back then, before his extreme body makeover courtesy of an angel, but his ring was the same, no way to deny who those hands belonged to. He wanted to grab those hands and pull them off of her but they were there, permanently. She had been soft and he was hard and if Calley had thought it focal enough to paint, it must have hurt. Everything else in those paintings was painful so this must have been, too.

The final painting showed Amora's brutal exit from Calley's body. It was the only painting that showed her entire body. There was some sort of scaffolding, maybe an oil well, towering over her as Calley arched up from the dirt, retching out grainy curves of smoke from her mouth. The collector who took that prize home for display probably thought it was some metaphor and would stand around it with his artsy friends each trying to out do each other using long words and nonsense phrases to describe what Calley was trying to say.

The clothes in the painting matched the skanky outfit Amora had dressed Calley in the night Dean met her. He couldn't help but wonder if while he was sleeping off his booze and anger, Calley was laying in the dirt, spitting out a demon, needing someone to save her.

He lost track of time staring at the screen, putting the pieces together. If Emily was his child, and she was, then Calley was pregnant in this painting, left in the middle of nowhere, discarded and filthy, when the demon bitch moved on to a fresh body.

"Why didn't you wake me up if you were ready to talk?" Sam's voice was hoarse from lack of sleep as he shoved the door open and came into the office. He looked like he'd rolled out of bed and straight down the stairs.

Dean deftly clicked away from the window framing Calley's misery and shoved an extra chair in Sam's direction. "Morning, Sunshine," Dean said, shaking off the feel of walking with Calley through her possession. "Never gonna get Prince Charming to kiss you looking like that."

"Funny," Sam grumbled, folding down into the chair. "You've had less sleep than I have. Jerk. You can't be this awake at five a.m." Sam grabbed Dean's still warm cup of coffee and downed it without asking permission.

"It's because I'm a superhero, remember? We look good all the time and we don't need sleep, just a bat nap every now and then."

Sam scrubbed his face awake with his hand and ignored Dean's smartass comment. "Bobby called after you went to bed," he said, shutting off the small talk and getting down to the work at hand.

"What did he find out about the mark?"

Now it was all business. Sam filled his brother in on the high level of demon protection Calley was using and how Bobby was surprised it had failed.

"How the hell would she be able to find something like that?" Dean didn't presume to know anything about Calley Rail's life but finding something this obscure in the world of demonology wasn't just something you'd google.

"Not a clue. Bobby had a hard time finding out what it was and he's like a freaking Wikipedia of demon crap. He says he needs the demon's name to find out more but he hasn't been able to translate it yet from—"

"Amora." Dean said the name like it was a curse. "That's the bitch's name."

"How did you find the name, Dean?" Sam was leaning forward, wide awake and in tune.

"From Calley. Calley told me last night when she showed up in my bed," Dean said, letting that bomb explode on the floor. It was going to take a coffee infusion to get through the next story and Dean pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the kitchen.

"In your what?" Sam was following, talking the whole time. "What the hell are you talking about? Like a dream or--?"

"Or, like her spirit hung out here so she could warn us to protect Emily." Dean set himself to coffee making duty and decided not to wait for Sam's endless flood of questions. "She said the demon's name was Amora and it was in her for a while then ripped out of her."

"Back up a minute, Dean," Sam said, standing behind his brother so closely he had to be shoved out of the way for Dean to fill the pot with water. "Calley's spirit showed up in your bed?"

"Catch up, Sammy," Dean said, pouring in the water and snapping the lid closed. He dumped in the scoops of coffee and hit the on switch.

"Are we talking angry spirit here or unfinished business spirit?" Sam was still fixated on the fact that there had been a visitation one room over from his own.

Dean watched as the coffee began to drip through. Looking away from Sam was sometimes the easiest way to carry on a conversation. "Well, if she'd wanted to kick my ass, I wouldn't have been shocked, but she didn't. She just wanted to help and be sure I was going to protect Emily from the demon." He paused, seeing her face again. "She was just a mom trying to take care of her kid."

"What else?" Sam backed up a little and found a seat.

Laying out the details like it were any other case, Dean said, "Calley wasn't thinking too clearly. You know how spirits can get. She was in pain, desperate." The chill of her skin shivered against his flesh again. "She said the thing was after her again and she had tried to find me. Said Amora wanted Emily and that she had made a mistake."

"Maybe it's what Bobby said, that Calley must have made a mistake on one of the marks and that's how the demon got to her," Sam offered, putting the limited pieces of their collective puzzle together.

"Could be," Dean answered, still watching the coffee stream and wanting it to move faster. "But she also said someone gave them up, betrayed them, and she said something about followers."

"Human accomplices? Demons love those Hell worshipping types."

"If there is a human accomplice, they're gonna die, too." Dean said it with a blunt edge to his tone. It was a given. No possibility of parole or mercy from the sentence he planned to hand out.

"What happened to her after she told you those things?" Sam spoke to Dean's back, letting his brother look at the job of coffee making and not at him.

"She told me Emily likes blue Kool-Aid, not purple, and her favorite song is 'True Colors." Dean turned around toward Sam and huffed a sad puff of laughter. "That's all I know about her, my own kid. Princesses, blue Kool-Aid and some song I don't know. What other stuff does she like or not like or need that I don't have a clue about?"

"You know the important stuff, Dean," Sam said, worrying that his brother was beginning to drown in the sea of things he didn't know about being a parent. "You know that she's scared and she needs you. That other stuff, you'll learn. It doesn't matter." Dean was leaning against the counter, holding the edge so hard he could almost snap it off. "You're great with scared, needy kids. One of your few good qualities." Sam expected a smart reply but only got silence in response.

Finally, the pot was full. Dean poured, then handed a cup to Sam. His body sank heavily into a chair and he held the cup tightly, warming away the chill of Calley that lingered on his hands. "When Calley couldn't hang on anymore, when the pain was just too much, I told her to let go and she did. It was kinda like when Dad left. That light. Her face…she looked like she was peaceful, happy to feel whatever was taking her."

Sam jumped when the phone in his pocket vibrated and rang at the same time. Prying it from his jeans, he flipped it open quickly.

"Hello? Bobby? I didn't expect you to call back so soon," Sam said, shaking his head at Dean. Bobby was evidently on a caffeine induced research binge. Sam was listening intently, waiting for a break in the spew of information Bobby was flooding him with. "Wait, Bobby. We've got the name. It's Amora." Sam listened some more.

"What's he saying?" Dean got up, leaning his ear closer to Sam to try to hear.

"Hold on a second. Let me put you on speaker so Dean can hear, too." Sam poked at a few keys and set his phone on the table. "Go ahead, Bobby."

"_Hey, Dean."_

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said, easing back into his seat. "What have you got?"

"_Well, I'm a little more ahead of this train than I thought. Got the translation, so I had the name 'bout an hour ago. You just confirmed it. This is one bad bitch, boys. 'Bout a two millennium old female demon with some epic bad habits."_

"And why would I expect it to be anything less?" Dean reached over to the counter and grabbed a pen and paper to take notes. "What's her story?"

"_I don't know how your lady friend crossed paths with Amora but I doubt it was by chance."_

"Why do you say that, Bobby?" Sam leaned closer to the phone, trying to keep his voice quiet.

"_Okay, here's the lore I've got so far. The legend goes that Amora was the demon consort of some monster level demon down in Hell, a demon that hasn't revealed his name, which is some big badge of honor to be such a badass that no one will say your name. Anyway, Amora has this freaky sadomasochistic desire that she likes to satisfy by riding human women and getting human males to abuse the host. Kinda kills two birds with one stone. She gets the thrill of feeling the pain and also gets to inflict it on the poor woman's meat she's in at the time."_

Dean felt the cold falling over him again as Bobby's voice jumped out into the room.

"_Anyway, seems she got a little haughty with her comings and goings from Hell and tried to pull some kind of coup on her sugar demon. He got pissed and when the dust settled, he punished her but good. Instead of just locking her up, he decided the best torture would be endless restrictions and rules that she would have to try to unravel to be free. Hundreds of conditions that had to be met for her to walk the earth or possess a human to get off."_

"Keep her so occupied with details she wouldn't have time to make any more trouble?" Sam said, a troubled look on his face.

"_Bingo. Here are a few of the conditions that I was able to find. She has to be summoned by humans, can't just pop up like a gopher any time she wants, and can only be summoned once every ten years. After that, she's only got a short time topside and she—"_

"Wait, Bobby," Dean said, doing some quick math in his head. "That timetable doesn't cut it. If some freak summoned Amora recently, and she can only pop out every ten years, how could she have possessed Calley in 2007? Even my math skills can figure that one out."

"_Not sure, kid. I'm just reporting facts, not doing the checking."_

"Dean, Calley was twenty-six when she died, right?" Sam was doing some math of his own.

"Yeah."

"That gas explosion she and her friends were in was when she was sixteen. That's ten years. What if that explosion was a demon light show and four teenaged girls screwing around with the occult brought her out?"

"_You think your girl had tangled with this demon before?" _

"Sam, are you trying to say you think Calley brought this thing on herself? I don't believe it," Dean's tone was taking on a defensive note. He wasn't willing to change Calley's status from victim to participant.

"_Guys?"_

"Hold on, Bobby," Sam shouted at the phone. "Dean, I'm not saying it's her fault, I'm just looking at the timetable here. It fits."

"Okay, let's say you're right and four clueless Texas teenagers are able to call up a two thousand year old demon, which doesn't make sense, but for the sake of argument, let's make that the truth," Dean said, tapping his pen on the paper. "It still doesn't add up because it would have been before the ten year mark for Amora to be back in 2007 to be inside of Calley."

"_This demon possessed the dead girl?"_

Still ignoring Bobby's voice coming from the phone, Sam looked at Dean and dove into an unpleasant explanation. "She could have been if we were the ones who let her out."

Dean sat silently for a moment, processing Sam's theory. After a moment's analysis, he covered his eyes with one hand.

"The Devil's Gate. Son of a bitch!"

Dean's fist hit the table with such force that the cell phone bounced up then clattered back to the surface.

"_Will somebody freakin' talk to me here?!" _

Bobby's words echoed through the room and Sam turned his attention back to the disembodied voice. "Sorry, Bobby. Yes, Calley was possessed by the demon in '07 and that's where Dean—" Sam cut off his story abruptly. This wasn't his story to tell.

"_Dean, if you want me to help with this, spill it. Everything. Now." _

Bobby's voice could be as commanding and demanding as their dad's had ever been. When he threw down a gauntlet, it hit hard. They needed his help so Dean opened his mouth and started talking. "The demon possessed Calley and found me in a bar in Texas and I slept with her. She had a baby, my baby, Emily. She's here with me and I've got to figure out if that smoky bitch wants to kill her, too, okay?"

Dead silence filled up the room as Bobby digested the lump of information Dean has crammed into the phone.

"_Are you sure about this, Boy? Did you have a test or something?"_

If Sam had been able to grab the phone and shut off Bobby's question, he would have. Too late.

"I'M FUCKING SURE WITHOUT A FUCKING TEST and the next person who asks me that is—" Dean cut himself off and stood up as if to grab the phone and sling Bobby's voice across the room.

Sam stopped his hand before Dean could destroy the phone and Dean replaced the motion with pacing around the room.

"Bobby? You still there?" Sam said, hoping he would be.

"_I'm still here."_

Bobby's voice wasn't angry or adversarial. It was the father's voice Sam wished his own father had used.

"_All right, Dean. Then I'm glad for you, Boy. I'll help you figure this thing out." _

Bobby's instant acceptance diffused Dean's anger and he sat back down. "I'm sorry, Bobby. Thanks."

"_Okay, back to business. Sam, you could be right about the Devil's Gate snafu. If Amora was let out of the gate it might have taken a while for her to be retrieved but, going by the rules, she could still come back on the ten year timetable." _

"Bobby, is there some bigger picture to this game Amora's pimp demon set up?" Dean had calmed back down and was scribbling notes on his paper.

"_That's the good part. Seems if Amora can meet all these hundreds of teeny tiny requirements and get to the final page of this massive rule book, she walks free."_

"And she's spent the past couple thousand years trying to do just that?" Sam asked.

"_Give that boy a prize!"_

"And if we know these rules, we can screw up her plans, right?" Dean was still scribbling. "Just download me a copy and I'm on it."

"_Did you really expect it to be that easy?"_

"No, but I thought I'd throw it out there, just in case."

"_According to what I dug up, even she didn't know all the rules, which made it pretty hard for her to follow them. They were recorded in four books and those were hidden in four different corners of the world. She had to wait for some dumb bastards to find them and start performing stupid human tricks by summoning her before she could get a look at them."_

"God…not a scavenger hunt," Sam said, an audible groan in his voice.

"Any clue where we could get our hands on this bestseller, Bobby?" Dean had finished scribbling on the paper and paused waiting for some guidance from the phone.

"_No. But, I did find a couple things about her that might help. Amora's only allowed sixty days out when she's conjured from Hell."_

"Great, the bitch has an expiration date and it's almost up this time," Dean said, jotting down '60 days' in his notes.

"_She can only possess women who are not virgins but have never had a child, no living parents, and they can have no 'tears, holes, or unnatural markings' on their bodies. Your girl fit that bill, Dean."_

"Yes," Dean answered, deciding not to offer any details about Calley's body. He'd seen every inch of her and she had been scar, piercing, and tattoo free.

"_And, Amora can only possess a host one time. Which means if she had your friend when you met her, she wasn't trying to wear her this time. She was after something else."_

"Emily?"

"_I don't know. You're just gonna have to dig for that one, Dean. But I can tell you one thing, the demon wouldn't be wasting limited time on vacation from Hell to stop by and catch up for old time's sake. There's a reason and you'd better find it quick."_

"Bobby, I'm leaving for Austin today. Call me if you find anything else," Sam said, easing the phone back into his hand. "Thanks for the help."

"_Any time. Dean, bring the kid around. Soon, okay?"_

"Sure thing, Bobby," Dean answered. "Thanks."

"_If I were you, I'd keep it quiet about where she is until this is settled. If Amora's got some dumbass cult trying to hold on to her, they might be trouble." _

"Got it. Later, Bobby."

"_Later."_

Sam folded the phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket. "We need that book," he said, rising from his chair and heading for more coffee.

"Start at the crime scene then go after Lindsey Deaton," Dean instructed, rubbing his temples. Three hours was not enough sleep after all and his head was throbbing. His temper fit with Bobby hadn't helped soothe his brain, either.

"Ellen got her tag number so I'm pretty sure I can track her down. Let's find out about that exploding slumber party." Sam sat back down at the table, examining his brother. Dean was staring down at a phrase he just written on the page. "The perfect one? What does that mean?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Dean kept staring at the phrase like it had poured out of the pen without his active participation. "Something Calley, I mean Amora said to me that night in Beaumont. She said, 'I knew when I saw you, you were the one I needed. The perfect one.' When I first remembered that I thought it meant she knew I'd do the shitty things she wanted me to do to Calley. But now, it feels like something else."

"Like she was looking for you for a reason?" The bad feeling Sam had carried for the past two days was bouncing around with more gusto in his gut.

"I don't know," Dean said, folding up the page and handing it to Sam. "I do know we need that freakin' book or at least someone who knows what's in it so we can get a few steps ahead of the bitch."

Sam rose from his chair and enjoyed a long stretch. "I need to get moving and on the road," he said, pushing his arms out in front of his body and feeling his tired joints pop. "Still need to finish some ID before I go. Can you get me a couple of new badges?"

"Sure," Dean answered, bending his head back to look up at Sam. "It feels weird sending you off like this. I should be going with you but I should stay with her, too."

"You're right where you should be for now," Sam said, leaning backward to loosen up the tension in his spine. It felt odd and strangely cool to be in the position Dean usually occupied. Sam found himself in the rare mode of protector for Dean and his new family. "And contrary to popular opinion, I can actually work a case without your supervision."

"That's so cute," Dean said, a lighter lift to his voice. "Shaggy wants to run a case."

"Right, Velma. You keep telling yourself that." Sam headed toward the door. He had his hand on the door when he stopped. "I'll find out what we need to stop all this. I promise you."

"I know you will, Sammy. I wouldn't trust anybody else."

Sam nodded and left Dean to his coffee.

****

Sam was so focused on packing he didn't notice Emily slip into his room until she was standing beside the bed. Quickly, he zipped his duffle bag closed so she wouldn't get an eye full of the weapons he'd already put away.

"Hey there, Em," he said, smiling at her. "Did you have a good time shopping with Dean?"

She was holding a small brown bag in one hand and a huge plastic bag from Toys R Us in the other. Gently, Emily pushed the smaller bag that contained Sam's requested costume-shop badges across the bedspread then pulled out an enormous box from the other bag to show him.

"Cinderella Barbie, huh?" Sam asked, just barely stifling a laugh at the thought of Dean lugging this most unmanly box around the toy store. "Did your daddy buy you this?"

She nodded, eyes bright and excited.

He took the box from her and began to try to open it for her. "He gave me one kinda like it once," Sam said, watching her expression take on a puzzled look. He pulled out his pocketknife and kept to his task. "But that's another story for another day."

Emily climbed up on the end of the bed, patiently watching as her doll was being liberated. Sam pulled, cut, and unraveled the ten thousand fasteners holding Cinderella Barbie onto the cardboard. Finally, after he'd decided that there was some special spot in Hell for the Mattel packaging department, Cinderella was free and Emily happily took her into her arms.

Playing with her new doll seemed to be her only focus, so Sam just let her stay while he finished packing. He talked to her about the right way to pack a bag so he didn't have to iron the shirts and what order things went in so the heavy stuff was on the bottom. He left out the part about where and how to stow the weapons.

Occasionally she would look at him or the bag as if she was hearing his lecture and didn't find it completely boring. Sam had saved one item from the bedside table to show Emily before finishing the packing.

Sam moved his bag to the floor and eased down on the bed beside Emily. It made him happy that she'd felt comfortable enough to stay with him while she danced her doll around on the bed.

Holding a worn picture frame, Sam said, "Emily, I want to show you something." He leaned over as she turned her attention away from the doll. "This is a picture of mine and Dean's mom and dad. This is John," he put his finger against an image of his father in uniform, "and this is Mary." He let his finger linger against the mother he didn't remember. To him, she was just a story, except for three minutes with her spirit before she left him once again in a blaze of glory.

Just like Emily's mother.

The little girl took the picture frame out of his hand and looked at it like she did everything else – like she was memorizing every detail. It was funny to connect someone like John Winchester with a little kid, but Sam had seen his father stare at things that intently, committing mounds of research, symbols, and lore to memory. He could solve puzzles and make connections it would take others weeks to complete because of that focus. Emily was zeroed in on John's image. Maybe she saw her own eyes in his. Sam couldn't be sure.

"That would make them your grandparents," Sam said, wondering if she even knew the concept of grandparents. He gently took the photo back and slipped it into his bag then retrieved another frame that was lying face down on the table. "They died a long time ago, so I carry that picture with me everywhere I go because it's like they're with me and that feels good."

There were those eyes again, practically staring through him. "I found this picture of you and your mom online," Sam said, putting a delicate gold frame in Emily's hands. "I thought you could keep this with you and it would be like she was with you, too."

It was the same photo he'd found for Dean two days ago. Calley and Emily on the beach in Galveston. The little girl held it for a long time, touching it and absorbing the image in her hands.

For a second, he was afraid he'd made a mistake. Sam was sure she was about to burst into tears and that was the last thing he'd wanted. He should have checked with Dean first.

"Emily, it's okay if you want to put it away for a while," Sam said, trying to gauge her reaction.

Then, she turned her face toward him and gave him a big smile. Not the timid, half smiles she shown him before, but a huge, happy one. The relief spread all over him as Emily reached out one tiny hand toward him. Reaching back, Sam took her hand in his, enjoying the moment with her.

As she held her hand against his palm, Sam felt the momentary joy fade. The fears he'd been ignoring about Emily began to bloom again as her little hand rested against his skin. The tingle between them grew slowly, a warm connection that slowly flamed until there was nearly a buzz at the point of contact.

He wanted to scream at how completely unfair it was to have this land on a little kid's shoulders. Sam had been an adult when it had smacked his life sideways. This was a four year old. The cruelty of it crackled in his head, making him angry and sad at the same time.

Closing his fingers around hers, he stayed connected. For a few seconds, Emily locked eyes with him, her expression a combination of fear and fascination. John Winchester's eyes, again. Wonder what he'd think of this? Not only was his son filled up to the brim with demon power he barely kept a lid on but now his maybe granddaughter was a freak, too. He wouldn't like it and he'd be putting out more warnings to Dean about it like he did years ago to stop it.

But John Winchester wasn't here running this show and Dean wasn't in the room either and Sam had to rule out the worst-case scenario.

"You feel it, too, don't you, Sweetie?" Sam covered her hand with both of his. The tingle between them took on a vibrating tone, the heat radiating up his arm. Emily jerked her hand away and looked at it strangely, as if it wasn't even part of her body.

Emily hadn't asked for this any more than he had. Calley hadn't asked for it. Dean hadn't asked for it. There was no way to tell what "it" was, but it was here. Sam knew about "it" because he could feel it. Whatever other worldly energy had been planted inside Emily; it was like the scalding blood that flowed through his own veins.

Sam didn't wait for Emily's permission. Reaching out, he scooped her up against his chest and she didn't resist. "Don't be scared, Em. I understand," Sam said, trying to stop the break in his voice. "It's in me, too." Resting his head against hers, Sam felt her hug a little tighter. The buzzing connection was gone since she'd taken her hand out of his and he was certain she didn't understand what that kind of power meant.

He hated himself for what he was about to do but the burden of this knowledge was on him already and he had to know it all. One handed, he fumbled in his bag, wrapping his fingers around a silver flask. It was sickening. The thought that he may be about to hurt the little girl trusting him enough to hold her close. The rough edges of the screw top twisted between his fingers and Sam let the water spill out to soak his hand.

The tremble ran from his hand and through his body as Sam reached up to touch the back of Emily's neck. Compassion made him hesitate before he touched her. One touch, one sizzle could be the end of everything for Emily, for Dean, for all of them.

Pressing his eyes shut tight, Sam muttered a prayer that he was wrong and touched his damp fingers to Emily's skin.

The liquid dripped down, sliding across her soft neck and running away. No smoke. No demon. No pain from holy water. Thank you, God, for one ounce of mercy. Sam squeezed her little body close and felt the dread ooze from his body.

Emily was just a little girl with some weird energy. That he could deal with. That could be managed, but his heart ached knowing Emily would eventually figure it out. If anyone else figured it out, she'd have a freak label printed across her forehead. He was going to postpone that as long as possible. Men like Drake would want to hunt her, just like they hunted him.

Emily finally broke the embrace and pulled back to bore her gaze right through him. She had confusion and questions, but Sam just couldn't answer them. Blessings were few and far between but Sam counted her silence as one on this day. If she could speak he would have sworn her to silence and made her a party to more secrets kept from her own father, at least for a while.

Sam would have to find the words to tell Dean that his new precious answer to his pain may have demon tooled powers running through her veins just like her freak uncle. Top that off with, "Oh, by the way, I'm running that paternity test you didn't want," and Dean was likely to give him a Drake-styled beating and split with Emily, never to be seen again.

Moving her around to sit in his lap, Sam said, "I've got to go away for a few days so I need you to promise me something, okay?" She'd grabbed Cinderella from the edge of the bed and was hugging her tightly. "Stick close to your dad and do exactly what he tells you to do."

She nodded, not taking her eyes away from her doll. Her expression was calm, as if the last few minutes had never happened.

Sam took her chin between two fingers and turned her face toward him so he could look into her eyes and be sure she understood. "Really, Emily. If your dad says run, you run like crazy. If he says drop, you hit the floor. And if he says hide, you hide and don't move or make a sound until he or Ellen or I come to get you. Don't obey anybody else and if you feel that weird scared feeling in your tummy, get away, all right?"

Dean had drilled those things into him from the time he could understand words. It didn't matter how old either one of them got, if Dean yelled 'drop' or 'run', Sam would obey without questioning. Every time. That blind trust had kept him alive on more than one occasion.

In response, Emily took his hand again and squeezed until the tingle came back then let go.

"Dude, did Emily give you the stinkin' badges?" Dean walked into the room, coming over to them both. He saw the doll in her lap and grinned. She reached up and squeezed his hand then looked over to Sam, wonder and questions swimming around in her eyes.

"Yep. Thirty minutes of finessing this plastic and I'll be Austin FD and a Texas Ranger," Sam said, looking away from Emily's confused expression at not feeling the tingle when she touched Dean's hand. "Holograms are already finished."

"Emily, your Uncle Sammy is the Picasso of fake ID," Dean said, oblivious to the new connection between Emily and Sam. "Wish he'd been that good when we were trying sneak into bars."

"Dean."

"Oops," Dean said, picking up Emily, Cinderella, and all. "Fake ID is bad when you're a teenager, Cutie Pie. Very bad." He turned toward the door, with Emily balanced in the crook of his arm. "Let's go check the oil in Ellen's car before Sammy leaves."

Sam could hear Dean talking down the hallway.

"You need to know how to do this stuff, Cutie Pie. Tire pressure, too. Always know how to take care of your own car so some grease monkey looking for a quick buck won't jerk you around. When you're old enough to drive I'll build you a—"

Sam went to the window and waited for the two of them to appear in the backyard beside the car. Dean had set Emily on her feet and though he couldn't hear what he was saying to her, his brother was saying a lot. The hood of Ellen's Honda was yanked upward, and Emily stood on top of a concrete block, leaning in to see something Dean was pointing at on the engine. When Dean Winchester talked "car" with you, it meant he thought you were worthy.

"I'd love to hear what he's saying to her," Ellen said, easing her way beside Sam at the window.

"He's telling her your car is a foreign piece of crap." Sam smiled down over the scene in the yard while Dean pulled the dipstick and wiped it on a rag.

Ellen laughed, not seeming insulted at all. "He's an American made kind of guy, isn't he?" To Sam's silence, she added, "Something wrong?"

"A few things." Dean was pointing to the full line and showing Emily how to put the stick back into the oil. He was telling her not to be cheap with oil or gas if you didn't want to turn your motor into junkyard material.

"Having second thoughts about the test?"

"Third and fourth and fifth but it's done now." The oil must have been okay, so Dean had pulled out the air filter and he was frowning, pointing at it, causing Emily to frown, too. Sam would be stopping to get a new one.

"One call to Mike and it can be undone and you can leave it alone, Sam," Ellen said, sounding relieved at the prospect of calling off the paternity test. "He wasn't crazy about doing this behind Dean's back to begin with but he agreed to it as a favor to me."

"I bet he wasn't, but it needs to be done." Emily was following Dean around to each tire, watching him check the air pressure.

"He has your number and he'll send the results to your cell," Ellen said, not offering any further argument.

"Good. Is he going to tell me what to do about the results once I get them?" Same asked as he watched Emily screw the tire pressure gauge onto one value and wait as Dean read the numbers.

"You're on your own with that one, Sam." Ellen put her hand over Sam's as it rested on the windowsill.

Dean wiped his hands on another towel and moved over to the Impala, yanking up her hood. He was excitedly pointing at things on his baby's engine, telling Emily why the Impala was the queen of automobiles. The little girl was hanging on his every word, holding up Cinderella Barbie so she could worship at the automobile altar, too.

Sam didn't have to hear what he was saying. He'd heard it all before.

"I'm worried about Emily," Sam said, turning to look Ellen in the eye.

"She's actually much better now that she and Dean are bonding. We'll see Mike again tomorrow but I can see how much more animated she is."

"That's not what I mean." He wasn't going to delve into the secret buzz he and Emily had shared when she held his hand earlier. No need to sound that alarm yet. "I think that demon may have done something to her."

"Like what?" Ellen was on alert now. "Something more than the burn?"

"Not sure," Sam said, taking in the instant worry on Ellen face. "But keep an eye on her, on both of them, until I get some more answers."

"Sam, if you know something, don't you think you should tell me?"

He wasn't going to lie. Editing wasn't lying. "I'm just trying to be careful. That's all." Sam walked away from the window, and picked up his bag. "Thanks for letting me borrow your car. I'll bring it back in one piece."

"Just bring yourself back in one piece, Sweetie." Ellen came to his side and delivered a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry about them. They'll be fine here."

Sam shouldered his bag and headed for the stairs. He had a long road ahead of him with no shotgun to share driving and way too much time to consider the decisions he was making behind his brother's back.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Firefly – Chapter 11

Sam was dog-tired, down to his bones. The motel room door creaked open to reveal one of the more mismatched motel rooms he'd seen in a while. There were no less than five different pattern combinations between the musty carpet, the wild bedspread, and mildly tattered drapes. If he'd been able to hold his eyes open wider than slits, Sam was sure it would have made him dizzy.

His bag landed with a thud beside the bed and he flopped down and closed his eyes. He'd made it more than halfway to Austin before he'd started swerving off the Oklahoma asphalt. Nine hours with one stop was enough and Sam had turned into the first motel that looked grim enough to be in his price range.

Yanking the edge of the covers over his shoulder, Sam rolled over, attempting to slide into the ease of sleep. One corner of his mind was still occupied with thoughts of Emily and the look on her little face when their connection had set off some cosmic buzz in her hand. Another spot in his exhausted head was rolling over the bases he needed to cover in Austin and analyzing the odds against him finding the demon, exorcising her quickly, and allowing Dean and Emily to live happily ever after.

That wasn't going to happen. Not the quick exorcism and not the happily ever after. It never, ever happened that way. Maybe Dean could get the happily for some spans of time broken up by disasters but not the ever after. He deserved it. God, he deserved it. That little girl deserved it, too. A buzzing handhold, an evil smoking demon, or mismatched DNA shouldn't be allowed to get in the way of that ever after. One of them would, though. Sam knew that for a fact.

The pillow was flat and thin and he had to fold it in two to make it passable. This was definitely not Ellen's place. The Roadhouse bed was the best bed he'd had in about forever. Sam fumbled with his cell phone, trying to set his alarm. He'd have to get the rubber back on the road early to make Austin by noon. His eyes closed and it felt like grit under his lids. Slowly, Sam fell off into the blackness and the hard bed and flat pillow didn't matter anymore. Sleep was good and he'd missed her.

Something began to drag him back from his nice, comfortable rest. It pulled and yelled and Sam began to organize the sounds into "I'm Here for the Party."

Dean had screwed around with his ring tones again. That song was blasting out of his phone, worse than the version the bridesmaids from hell had abused him with. How could it be time to get up? He'd just fallen to sleep.

Eyes still shut, Sam groped for the alarm off button to make the sound go away but that girl's voice continued to relentlessly stab his eardrums.

"Would you please shut up?!" Sam moaned, opening one eye and bringing the noisemaker closer to his face and realizing it wasn't the alarm after all. Flipping open the phone, he said, "What, Dean?"

"Sorry to interrupt," Dean said. "You must have a girl in there. Oh wait, it's you. Never mind."

"Jerk."

"Where are you, Bitch?" Dean's voice was annoyingly awake and happy.

"In my bed. In Oklahoma." Sam swung his feet to the floor. After Gretchen Wilson's blasting alarm, he was far from relaxed anymore.

"Halfway and you have to sleep? Quitter."

"What's going on up there? Emily okay?"

"Yeah, she's good. It's all quiet, except for the bar," Dean answered. "Did you stop and replace the air filter?"

"Yes."

"Not a cheap one, the real deal?"

"Yes, I'm in a crap motel because I bought the right air filter, okay?" Sam said, annoyed that he was being quizzed.

"Touchy," Dean replied, pleasure evident in his tone. "Hang on a second, let me go in the other room." Dean's voice got a bit distant as he pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Emily. I'll be right back. Hit pause." Sam could hear Dean's boots stomping over the floor and a door open and shut. "We're watching a movie."

"You're not letting her watch 'Kill Bill' are you?" That movie had been Dean's last addition to his collection, though Sam couldn't fathom how Dean could sit through the casket scene or why he actually laughed every single time. It seemed to be some weird form of gallows humor for his brother.

"No, stupid. It's really not that bad. It's the one with the cartoon princess who falls in the sewer and comes out a real girl in New York. Got that TV doctor in it. McScreamy?"

"McDreamy."

"It is so gay that you know that."

"You're watching princess movies and I'M gay?"

"Shut up. What's friggin' wrong with princesses?"

Sam laughed out loud. "Not a thing, dude. You'd make a great one, since you're so short and dainty."

"Suck it," Dean snapped back at him. He hated that short business and it made Sam grin from ear to ear knowing how it got under his skin. Dean might be older but Sam would always be taller.

The sound of Dean stomping down the stairs pounded through the phone. "What's your plan for tomorrow?" Dean asked. Sam knew it was killing him to turn over the reins and have his only input be a voice over the phone or words on the computer screen.

"Fire Department first. Thought I'd look up the guy who pulled Emily through the window."

"Thank him for me," Dean said with the sound of a beer opening in his hand."

"Yeah, I will. Then I'm going to the crime scene then to track down Lindsey."

"Got the address?"

"No, I thought I'd just stick a pin in the map and hope it was her house."

"Do you have to be such a smartass, Smartass?"

"Don't have to be, just want to be."

"Okay, I can see you're a cranky baby so I'm going back to the movie," Dean said. After a beat, he added, "Be careful."

"Aw, and I was planning on not being careful," Sam answered, kicking his shoes off and laying back on the bed. "Fun crusher."

"I'm serious. Be careful and check in. I still don't like you being on your own when we don't exactly know who or what we're dealing with. You should have taken Bobby with you."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful, Dude. I'll call in the morning." Sam was about to flip the phone shut, when he added, "Hope you both get some sleep tonight."

"Thanks, me, too," Dean said, his voice sounding a bit more hopeful that it could happen. "Better get back to the princesses."

Sam snapped the phone closed and tossed it on the nightstand. Sleep came quickly and buried his worry for a few hours.

***

"Okay, Cutie Pie, press play and let's see who shows up at the party," Dean called out, walking back into Emily's room.

Emily was passed out, flat on her back with a bowl of popcorn rising up and down on her tummy in rhythm with her breathing. Popcorn puffs were scattered around the bed and the remote was clutched in her hand. The credits were running on the movie, implying that patience wasn't a four-year-old virtue.

"If anyone had any doubt, kid, this would clear it right up," Dean whispered to himself, laughing. It took a few minutes of stealthy housekeeping to pick up the litter mixed in with the covers and move the bowl off of Emily's belly.

He intended to tuck her in, turn out the lights, and ease out of the room. After watching her for just a few minutes, he should be able to tell if she was sleeping soundly. When she was deep in sleep, Emily threw herself across the bed, arms and legs everywhere, freely sprawling out without fear. When she drew her body into a tight knot, you could almost feel the dream scratching around in her head, sending her little body into defense mode as she tried to fight back against the nightmare.

Right now, Emily was stretched across the bed, comfortable and free. Dean reached over, flipped off the light, and Emily remained perfectly still. Dean lingered at the door to watch for just a few seconds to be sure.

"What the hell. Just one more night," he said to himself, walking back to the bed. Gently, he slid the remote out of her hand and sank onto the bed beside her. Kicking off his boots, Dean noticed the credits still running. He thought for a second or two, and then reset the DVD to the point where he'd left the room.

The movie picked up right where he'd left off and he kept the sound down low. Dean felt something under his hand and grabbed a piece of popcorn he'd missed, popping it into his mouth. Emily twisted over on her side, wiggling her back into a comfortable spot beside him. Slowly, he closed his arm around her, holding her closer.

Ellen had given him a long speech this afternoon about how he wasn't doing Emily any favors by continuing to sleep beside her every night. She'd said making things normal was the way to go and Emily needed to learn normal again. She had a point, but Dean decided the search for normal was different when you were a four-year-old with chunks burned out of your arm and no way to call for help at night because the daylights had been scared out of her.

Last night, he'd left her alone in her dreams and she'd come looking for him when the dreams tore her peace into shreds. Why should she have to be alone? Ellen didn't know everything. There would be plenty of time, once she was better and stronger, to get used to the night by herself.

The evil queen suddenly made an appearance at the ball. "Duh," Dean muttered sarcastically to himself. "That was unexpected." It wasn't nearly as fun watching this movie alone. Emily had obviously seen this one before and would lean closer to the TV during the musical numbers, chin balanced on her hands, glued to the screen. Her head would bounce and a couple of times he thought he saw her silently mouthing the words to the songs.

Somehow, without Emily added to the audience, "Enchanted" rapidly lost its appeal and Dean felt his eyelids begin to get heavier and heavier. Even with all the uncertainty, with Sam down in Texas demon hunting alone, with the fear Dean had for Emily's safety that had him spreading salt and keeping a gun at his back, he still felt an odd contentment laying here in this bed keeping watch over her.

It was like all those nights in crap motels looking after Sammy when he was little. It didn't matter that Dean was just as scared as his little brother. He'd kick Fear's ass and man up so Sammy wouldn't be scared, too, and could sleep. That Sammy that had grown up into this Sam who was letting him be free to enjoy this. And damn, he was grateful.

Why shouldn't they have this, he and Emily? Why should he have to worry about every freaking civilian who stumbled over a monster and not have this feeling? Sleep was blanketing over him and the soothing hum of Emily's breathing hummed up through his hand where it wrapped around her body. She was important and what they had right here was important. Just as important as clueless strangers.

Dad's face floated around in the dream that had taken Dean away from consciousness. John Winchester said, "Because we know it's there, we have no choice but to save those people." He said it like it was carved in a stone tablet. The first of the Ten Commandments according to JW, right above, "My way or the highway," and "Because I said so."

"You're wrong, Dad," Dean whispered to the talking head in his mind. "Your kid comes first. That's the top priority. The Ten Commandments according to DW. Get used to it."

"I'm not in love with your tone, Boy," came the deep, gravelly response.

"Yeah, I bet, but too bad. I'm going to fix this for her. I'm going to do this right."

John's mouth tipped up from a frown into a smile, then said, "Yeah, you try that and see how it goes. You should be down there with your brother, hunting. This is in your blood."

"So is she, now get out of my head and let me sleep, Dad." Dean turned away into the darkness, away from John Winchester's know it all face.

Dean was in nothingness for what seemed like days, sleeping like he hadn't in months. It went on and on and it was soft and good and he felt light, like he was floating. The non-dream part of his mind kept reminding him that it was only temporary and something was going on beside him.

A tightness began to creep up against his skin. It was under his hand. Fear felt like that and he fought his way back up through the dark.

Emily was twisted into that familiar terrified ball beside him. Her breath wasn't moving in that gentle popcorn-bouncing rhythm from earlier in the night. It pounded out of her in heavy pants, like someone sprinting away from a monster.

She was.

Dean rolled carefully to his side and pulled himself completely awake. With her right hand, Emily clawed at the bandage on her left, desperately trying to push away the invisible burning hand torturing her once again. Sweat and tears ran down her face and Dean reached over to grab her hand to keep Emily from hurting herself. He could feel her entire body burning with the heat of raw fear.

"It's okay, Sweetie. I'm here," he whispered, keeping her tiny hand away from the bandage and stroking her hair with the other. "It's a dream. Nobody's going to hurt you anymore. Daddy's right here."

Her eyes were clamped shut and her face was a twisted knot of agony as Emily replayed the inferno of the apartment fire over and over. That kind of fear was primal and vicious and showed no mercy. Lightly, he stroked his fingers over her wrinkled forehead, trying to chase away the dream.

Eventually, as he held her close, the dream faded and Emily relaxed back into sleep without waking, taking up her pleasant sleep where she'd left it when the nightmare grabbed her. Not waking up in a panic attack was progress, just a bit, but progress nonetheless.

"Ellen doesn't know everything," Dean thought to himself, making himself comfortable with Emily's head in the crook of his arm.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Firefly – Chapter 12

Texas was friggin' hot. Sam unfolded out of Ellen's Hot Wheels Honda and the Austin summer slapped him in the face. Being crammed in that tiny car truly made him appreciate the gracious space of the Impala and he stretched himself backwards until his spine popped. Even under the weight of Texas heat, it felt good to be off the road and at his destination. He could get to work now instead of just thinking about it.

Dean was bugging the crap out of him, constantly calling. The last time, Sam had told him he was acting like a jealous boyfriend and hung up on him. Dean wasn't going to be stopped and replaced his calls with text messages of instructions on how to work the job. Sam was trying not to be too annoyed. Dean's vested interest in this job was incalculable and the fact that he couldn't be an active participant was a big hurdle for him to get over.

Sam tucked in his shirt and pressed the ignore button on another one of Dean's text messages before he went toward the fire station. He walked through the office door and was immediately eased by ice-cold air conditioning. Fire stations had always fascinated the Winchester boys when they were little. The equipment was huge and powerful and firemen got to bust up into burning buildings, hauling people out over their shoulders, looking like heroes. People actually thanked them for what they did, for saving them. Firemen didn't have to lie about their names and rarely did they get chased by the cops for saving people.

And best of all – chicks loved firemen. Dean had planted that idea in his head early on and he often represented them as firemen to pick up women. It worked surprisingly well.

"Hello?!" Sam called out into the empty room, his voice a bit louder than he intended.

A stocky man with thick black hair rounded the corner into the large office area and walked over to Sam, a friendly smile on his face. "Can I help you, Sir?"

"Uh, yes. I'm looking for Darryl Juarez," Sam said, extending his hand. "I'm Sam Winchester." He'd thought a long time about using his real name here at the fire station and decided it made sense. If they had Emily's real name, Winchester would get him an inroad fast.

The man shook his hand and said, "You got him. I was just on my way out. Double shift yesterday." He looked like a man who needed to grab a beer and a nap. "What can I do for you, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam was a little surprised at his luck. He didn't usually have much of that. "I won't keep you long, I wanted to talk to you a few minutes about a fire."

The dark-skinned man directed Sam to a couple of chairs and sat down and dropped a large backpack he was carrying to the floor. As they sat, Darryl said, "Okay, what fire and where?"

"A couple of weeks ago, you pulled my niece, Emily, out of a burning apartment. You saved her life and I wanted to thank you." Sam watched the man rewind his memory, trying to be more alert than he had been a few seconds ago.

After a few seconds, the fireman said, "Yeah, the little girl was under the bed. What a nightmare." He clicked through the details in his head, then he added, "Had smoke inhalation and some pretty serious burns. A real tiny little girl. I checked on her a few days later but someone had already taken her out of the hospital. Is she okay?"

"She's with her dad, my brother. Emily's pretty traumatized and she can't tell us what happened, but she's getting better. My brother wanted me to thank you, too."

"Nice to have a good outcome," Darryl said, obviously relieved to hear the good news. "When kids hide from a fire, sometimes we don't find them in time. Some lady pulled up outside and told us there was a little girl in there. Wouldn't have known to look if she hadn't."

"So you weren't even looking for Emily until someone said she was in the apartment?" This was the first kink in Lindsey's story. She'd told Ellen they were pulling Emily out when she got there.

"Well, we were going in, but I wouldn't have gone straight to the kid hunt from the window if I hadn't known."

"Kid hunt?"

"Yeah, that's what I call it. Usually, if you don't see them out in the open, they're in the closet or under the bed. I reached in the window and there she was, right there under the bed," Darryl said, smiling. Sam understood feeling the satisfaction of actually being able to save someone. It didn't come often.

"Mr. Juarez, can I ask you a few questions about the fire itself?" Sam leaned forward in his chair, getting a little closer to the man.

"Call me Darryl."

"Sure, Darryl. My brother and I really want to know what happened. We got a look at the report and it said arson, but we just don't understand all that 'report speak,'" Sam said, trying to sound clueless. "I know I got it wrong but it looked like it said the fire started inside one of the victims? That didn't make sense at all."

Darryl leaned back in his chair and rubbed a weary hand over his face. "No, that's what it said, but it doesn't make sense to me either and I've been in this business for fifteen years." He stopped, as if searching for the right words to continue the conversation. "The flashpoint of the fire was inside one of the victims but they couldn't find an incendiary device or accelerant."

"So they can tell where it started but not how?" Sam asked, clicking off one more confirmation. "No chemicals or anything?"

"The only other thing mentioned was traces of sulphur, but that's not what started the fire," Darryl said, still looking troubled. "Maybe you should talk to the investigator."

"I'd rather talk to someone there that night," Sam said, seeing that there was more information to be had from this man and he was struggling as to if he should give it up. "Just tell me what you think, off the record."

After silently resolving his hesitation, Darryl leaned closer and lowered his voice. "It's almost like they're describing it as that spontaneous combustion sci-fi crap. But there was some strange stuff in that place."

"Like how strange?"

"Now, I don't know what that lady was into," Darryl said, hesitating, "but there were weird things drawn all over the walls, on the door, all over the house. I could see them in the room before it burned. One of the other guys said there was one on the front door, behind a wreath."

"Like art?"

"No. Freaky symbols. You know, like unholy things." As if it were an unconscious reflex, Darryl crossed himself quickly but with a devout intensity. "Look, I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, or of your family but—"

"No, I wanted the truth." Sam felt a deep regret that he couldn't defend Calley Rail to this stranger who didn't understand what he'd seen. Calley was trying to ward off evil, not roll out the welcome wagon. "Do you think I could get inside the apartment, just to look around?"

"That would be up to the landlord and depend on if it was safe. Cops may still have it closed since it's a crime scene," Darryl said, getting up and grabbing his bag.

"I'll check with them first," Sam lied, standing up and shaking the man's hand once again. "We're very grateful that you saved Emily. My brother didn't even know she existed and they're getting to know each other now."

"Glad to help," Darryl responded, pumping Sam's hand once then letting go. "Hope your brother can keep little Emily away from whatever got her mom killed. It just didn't look like a safe place for a kid."

"He'll make sure she's okay. I can promise you that."

Sam left the fire station and headed for his next stop.

***

Dean stared at the cell phone in his hand. "Jealous boyfriend, my ass," he muttered then typed "bite me" into a text message and sent it quickly to Sam. He set the phone on the edge of the pool table and picked up a stick.

"Your Uncle Sammy has developed a 'tude," Dean said, winking at Emily, who sat on a barstool pushed up to the table.

Emily's response was silence, as usual. Cinderella Barbie was poised in her lap and had only been out of her hands during her bath last night.

Dean wracked the balls on the table and slid them to the appropriate spot. "Tonight, I'm going to let you hang out with Ellen because Daddy's got to separate some losers from their money at this very pool table. So, I've got to practice," he said, chalking his pool cue. "Wanna' help?"

The little girl nodded enthusiastically and paid close attention while Dean took a shot and scattered the balls around the felt.

He moved around the table, taking a few shots as he talked. "You see, I'm actually doing these guys a favor, Emily. They think they're good at this game and I just point out that they suck, for a small fee. They move on to a wussy game they can win like darts or quarters and Daddy gets a few of their dollars. It's a win win."

Dean knew she didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but it didn't matter. The past two days had been good ones. The nights were a little rough, but he'd spent the days being followed around by a kid who appeared to want to be close to him. She didn't speak, but she listened and smiled and that was enough. This afternoon might be a different story when they went to visit Dr. Wallace, but that was still a few hours away.

"Okay, kid, here's what I need you to do," Dean said, clearing away a few of the balls, leaving six scattered across the lower half of the table. "I'm going to pick one of the balls and you point to the pocket you want me to sink it into and I've got to stand right here to do it. Can you do that?"

Emily nodded and took a stick Dean held out to her.

"Great." Dean pointed toward the four ball at the center of the table. "Which pocket?"

Instead of picking a pocket at the lower end of the table, Emily reached the stick across the table to tap the pocket in the corner by Dean's right hand.

"Wait a minute," Dean said, shaking his head. "Are you sure you don't want one of those way down there?"

In response, Emily tapped the pocket again.

"You must have more of your Uncle Sammy in you than I thought, Cutie Pie," Dean said, setting up the complicated shot and doing pool table geometry in his head. Finally, he took the shot, banking the cue ball into the four and sending it into the correct pocket.

In response, Emily clapped and Dean took a bow.

"See? Your daddy is hot today! I smell a wad o' cash in our future, Emily."

He pointed toward the two and Emily directed him back to the same pocket. Dean shook his head. "You're killin' me, kid," he said, working out the next shot.

***

"Dean, how am I supposed to get anything done with you freaking calling me all freaking day?"

Sam snapped his phone shut and walked toward the burned out hull of Calley's apartment, looking every inch a true blue Texas Ranger. Badge, boots, and belt buckle. The works. If Dean saw this get up, there would be no end to the Walker Texas Ranger jokes. Sam decided it might be worth the ribbing to keep the boots. He liked the boots.

Sam had drawled through his conversation with the apartment manager, flashed his ID, and he was about to set foot in ground zero of Emily's nightmares. Stooping under the crime scene tape, he carefully stepped through the charred remains of what was once a home. Calley had another place but she'd rented this one only a week before her death. It was a hideout, now filled with burned furniture and the stink of death.

The blackened hunks of ceiling tiles crunched under his boots, and he moved further into the living room, pulling out his flashlight. This room had taken a lesser hit from the flames but the closer he moved toward the bedroom, the heavier the devastation. Soot covered the walls in a thick layer, obscuring everything underneath.

There was a stack of books sitting beside what was once a sofa. Sam crouched down and leafed through a few pages that were still intact. None of them were Amora's "How To Manual" but Calley had begun a collection on demonology that made him think of Bobby's piles and piles of dusty, yellowed volumes. Buried deep inside one of the toasted books, Sam found a piece of parchment. It was folded over and over, probably to make it less noticeable. Sam opened the paper, and found the specs and instructions for the mark Calley had used on her paintings. He stashed the paper in his pocket.

As he got up to move on, the pile of books toppled over and something shiny caught his eye behind the collection. It was only a corner of metal, poking out from under other debris. When Sam yanked the item free, he found he was holding a small lime green iPod that was surprisingly still intact. He flipped it over and found "Emily" engraved on the back. Sam slid that item into his pocket as well.

The bedroom was completely destroyed with very little remaining but piles of debris that couldn't be identified. He could make out the bed frame that had been Emily's hiding place. The crime scene photo couldn't possibly capture the horror of that demolished room. The familiar stench of burned flesh was floating around the room. Sam knew that scent intimately and he also knew that if he ever smelled it and didn't feel sad and sick, he'd need an attitude adjustment.

An outline marked the spot where Calley had met her death and the room was basically nothing but an enormous ashtray, offering him little information. Sam left the bedroom and was on his way out the wide open entrance when a large piece of white wood caught his eye. Picking his way over to it through the waste of Calley's apartment, Sam discovered the remains of the front door.

Recalling his earlier conversation with Darryl Juarez, Sam flipped it over and leaned down to give it a closer look. There were large slices gouged out of the wood from an ax, marking that side as the front. About two feet from the top, Sam found what he was looking for – an expertly painted repellant symbol. It was about the size of baseball, painted in black, with one corner of the paint scraped away.

Sam snapped a quick picture of the damaged symbol with his phone then dialed Dean's number. He was on his way back to the car when his brother picked up the call.

"Hey. I know how the demon got to her and what Calley meant when she said she'd been betrayed. Check out the picture I'm about to send to your phone. I'm on my way to Lindsey Deaton's place."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Firefly – Chapter 13

By: Suz Mc

Dean shook himself when he realized he hadn't been paying attention for the past few minutes of the drive. The photo Sam had shot over to his cell had occupied a great deal of his brainpower over the past hour. If Emily hadn't been standing in front of him when he'd seen it, Dean had no doubt that fist would have gone into the wall. Instead, he'd put his focus on learning to pull a four-year-old girl's hair into a lopsided ponytail, which was a new skill that would take a bit of practice to master.

The Impala turned easily into Dr. Wallace's parking lot and Dean shot a look back at Emily. Everything she had suffered in the fire, what she was about to suffer again, happened because someone destroyed the symbol Calley had carefully painted to protect them both. Dean and Sam had scraped away at the lines of Devil's Traps before to let demons in or out as it suited their purposes. It only took one break of one line to render it useless. Whoever damaged that mark knew what they were unleashing on a terrified mother and her child.

That person was now shoved to the top of Dean Winchester's death list.

As Dean settled the car into a space, he turned his full attention to the little face filling up his rearview mirror. Emily was staring past him toward the front door of the clinic. She was nervously chewing on one corner of her lip, trying to bite back the fear rising up inside her. Dean shoved the gear shift into park and eased himself out of the front seat. When the back door opened, Emily remained still, held firmly by her seatbelt. Slowly, Dean slid into the seat beside her.

They sat in silence for a while before he found the words for what he wanted to share with Emily.

"I'll always tell you the truth, Cutie Pie, when something is going to be scary or loud or if it's going to hurt or if it's not. You can trust me on that," he said, taking her hand in his. When he closed his fingers around hers, they disappeared into his grasp but the tremble was still there. "This is probably going to hurt again, but maybe not as much as before. That's what Dr, Mike said, remember?"

Emily kept her eyes on the fearsome clinic door waiting for her but nodded her head up and down.

"My dad told me something one time about getting through something scary that you have to do. Want to know what he said?" Dean waited as Emily turned her face toward his. It was awful to see her so afraid, so helpless to avoid what was coming. "He said it's like standing on a big cliff. The longer you stand there, the worse you feel and the higher the drop looks. But if you jump, you just hit bottom once then you get up and it's done. The being scared part will be over and it sure feels good when the being scared part is done, right?"

With his free hand, Dean reached over slowly and snapped open the clasp on her seatbelt. She didn't resist, but followed him out of the car and onto the pavement. Hand in hand, they walked to the steps leading into the building, but that was as far as Emily was able to go. She didn't attempt to run away, just stopped in front of the steps as if they were a mountain she wasn't going to be able to climb.

"Being brave doesn't mean you can't have some help," Dean said, holding out his open hands to her. He lifted her up into his arms and gave her back a gentle pat. Emily's arm went around his neck and she held on tight. "You ready?" He waited until she gave the okay to go inside before he climbed the two steps and opened the door. "That's my girl," he whispered and gave her cheek a little peck.

***

Lindsey Deaton cracked her door open only a sliver, peering out at Sam with only one eye. He'd felt her spying on him from a crack in the draperies of a side window and he'd done his best straight arrow posture, fingering the badge he'd clamped to his belt.

"Yes?" she said, her voice just above timid.

"Ma'am, are you Miss Deaton?" Sam was trying for authoritative, but polite. Everybody down here was polite. Lots of 'yes ma'ams' and 'thank you ma'ams.'

"Yes, that's me and you are?"

"Sam Langley, ma'am. Texas Ranger," he said, tapping the badge at his waist and folding open his very nice fake ID. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Calley Rail."

Lindsey gave a weary huff, but kept the door chained. "I've already told the Fire Marshal and the police everything I know."

"Yes, ma'am, and you've been really helpful," Sam answered, trying to be the good cop today. "The investigation into the homicide has hit a brick wall and the locals thought some fresh eyes might be able to come up with something new." Sometimes having a good smile came in handy and Sam used his shamelessly. "I know you were Miss Rail's friend and you helped her and her daughter. Emily? Isn't that her name?"

"Let me see your ID again," Lindsey said, softening a bit and releasing the chain on her door. After a careful examination, she said, "Yeah, that's her name. Calley was taking her to her dad so when she was able to leave the hospital, I drove her there."

"I'm sure Miss Rail would be grateful to know her friend looked after her little girl."

Lindsey looked away, mulling over something in her mind, then said, "I guess you can come in for a minute or two." She stepped back and invited Sam into the small cottage. She waved him toward the living area. "I don't have much time. We're staging 'Rent' at the community college where I teach and rehearsal starts in an hour."

"You're a drama teacher?"

Lindsey smiled for the first time. "Yep, frustrated high school actress wannabe. I do community theater, but this pays the bills."

Sam pulled out a notebook and flipped through some notes he'd constructed for her interview. "Is it right that you knew Miss Rail in high school?"

The woman gave a somewhat sad puff of laughter. "I did. Calley and I were both a little on the outcast side. She was an artsy girl, dreaming of running away to Italy to paint and I was a drama department weirdo. Not exactly popular pastimes for Texas teens. Her family was loaded but even Calley's own cousins made sure none of the popular kids would have anything to do with her. Kinda put us in a clique of our own."

"Sounds like you were close."

"Yes, but we lost touch after she left school," Lindsey answered quickly, as if she were trying to shut down her travels on memory lane.

"Yeah." Sam flipped a couple of pages. "There was some sort of accident?"

Lindsey shifted uncomfortably. "We were at a sleepover and there was a gas explosion. First time we'd been invited anywhere and it had to be a disaster."

"Says here Calley was hospitalized and the two other girls died," Sam read from his fake notes. "Guess that made you pretty lucky to walk away, huh?"

"Lucky. Yeah. I watched my friends get blown up and I had a hard time with it. Ran away from home for a while but I eventually got my shit together."

"Seeing something like that can really mess with your head when you're a teenager."

"Shit happens and life goes on," Lindsey said, trying to make light of the long ago trauma. "What does this have to do with Calley's death?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought it was interesting that you two would go through something so life altering and not stay connected." Sam folded his notebook closed. "When did Calley get back in touch with you? Was it recently?"

"Uh, yeah, it was," Lindsey said, leaning just a bit closer to where Sam sat beside her on the sofa. "She was really upset and was trying to get out of town. I was so worried about her. She seemed so desperate. Kept talking about someone being after her and trying to find Emily's daddy. When she called me after all this time, I didn't know what to think. I guess she couldn't trust the people she was hanging around with now and wanted an old friend to rely on."

"What sort of people was Calley associating with?"

Lindsey did a little twirl beside her ear with her finger. "Well, that odd gallery owner for starters. Calley's paintings are in demand like crazy and that one gallery repped her work." She leaned in even closer, whispering. "I think that woman is into some freaky-goth-callin'-up-Satan crap and she may have dragged Calley into it. I think her name is Ariel Anderson at Backstreet Gallery. I'd check her out if I were you. Has a total Anne Rice occult vibe going, if you know what I mean."

"Why would you think Calley was into the occult?"

"Why? All that stuff Calley had painted all over her apartment, that's why. Scared the crap out of me. And the books and the way she was acting all paranoid? She just wasn't the girl I knew in high school." Lindsey picked up her purse as if to signal Sam that the interview was over.

"And yet you were going to help her, even though you thought she was having some sort of breakdown?" Sam stood up as Lindsey rose from the sofa.

Lifting her purse to her shoulder, Lindsey said, "Guess tragedies bond people and you're never quite finished with them." A frown had crept over her face and she forced it away with a smile. "I guess Calley's done now, though. I mean, she's at rest. Maybe that's best. You should check out that gallery. You might find some better answers from the people she was close to in recent history. Now, I really need to get moving or a bunch of moody teenaged actors are going to be at each other's throats."

"Can't have that," Sam said, letting her dismiss him. "Thank you for your time."

They both passed through the door and he watched Lindsey lock it behind her. Lindsey dropped her keys into her purse and thought for a moment before she said, "Calley was my best friend once. It's a shame it had to end this way for her."

"Maybe it didn't have to," Sam answered, watching the sadness travel over Lindsey's face.

"Some people are just doomed, Ranger." Lindsey walked away toward her car and didn't look back.

***

Dr. Wallace had been right. Although unwrapping and treating Emily's wound was painful, she didn't suffer nearly as much as their last brutal visit. This time Emily had sat in her father's lap while the doctor had carefully unwound the bandage and examined the progress of her healing. A couple of times she'd buried her face against Dean's shirt and squeezed his shoulder with her right hand but she didn't fight or panic.

Dr. Wallace took one last careful look at the melted handprint on Emily's arm before he began to wrap the clean gauze around it once again. "It's healing up great and the only rough spots are these deeper burns," he said, pointing toward what must have been a thumb and fingertips seared into her flesh. "There's more tissue damage at these points and they will take longer to heal. You have to keep them clean and medicated so infection doesn't set in." Slowly, he began to cover Emily's forearm with the bandage. "Much as I'm going to miss seeing you so often, Sweetie, I don't think you need to come back for a couple of weeks unless there's a problem. Your daddy can take care of this for you at home."

"Hear that?" Dean said into the little ear right at his lips. "Told you it was going to get better."

Emily clearly understood the part about not coming back to the doctor's office and her entire body relaxed against Dean's chest. It was a reaction of complete relief. There was one fearful burden lifted off of her tiny shoulders.

Once the bandaging was complete, the doctor held up a bright green ball that would fit right in Emily's palm. He gently took her hand and put the ball into her grip. "Emily, I'm going to need you to squeeze this ball as hard as you can to keep your muscles strong. Think you can do that for me?" The man switched his attention from Emily to Dean. "She needs to get the strength back in her left arm. Since she's naturally right-handed, it's been easy for her to avoid using the arm that hurts. Have her do this three times a day for the next six weeks to keep things from contracting. Start out with ten reps each time for the first day and add a couple every day until you get up to thirty then keep it there."

"I'll be sure she does it," Dean said, shifting Emily around in his lap. One of the nurses came into the exam room and Dean pointed over toward her. "Why don't you go with Mel, Cutie Pie, and get a sucker and some stickers? Get me a green one, 'kay?"

Emily was happy. She'd jumped from the ledge Dean had told her about earlier. "Bottom didn't hurt so much, did it?" Dean said, giving her a hug and a smile. The little girl smiled back then slid out of Dean's lap to follow the nurse out of the room.

As the doctor jotted notes on Emily's chart, Dean cleared his throat then said, "I appreciate everything you've done for her and I want you know I'm going to pay the bill as soon as I can. I'm kinda between jobs right now but—"

Dr. Wallace held up his hand to stop Dean's explanation. "There's no bill."

"No, really, not going to duck out on the bill."

The man folded the file folder closed and leaned back again the exam table. "When I first came to town years ago, Ellen helped me out with a particularly nasty problem in my house that required a professional in your line of work." The doctor stayed quiet for a few seconds, letting Dean digest what he'd just said. "She and Bill saved my family, my kids. Anything I can ever do for Ellen, anything she asks of me, is on the house. Forever."

Suddenly, Dr. Mike stood in a whole new light. "So you know about hunters?" Dean asked, wanting everything out in the open.

"Yes, I know about hunters and nasty things that can burn up a little girl's arm that can't be talked about to outsiders." The man smiled at Dean and added, "So Emily's care is taken care of and when she's healed enough for reconstructive surgery on the scar, I have a friend who'll do it as a professional courtesy to me. When we get to that point, I'll make the arrangements."

"I don't know what to say, Doc, but thank you," Dean said, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

"You're welcome," the doctor answered, shaking Dean's hand then releasing.

"Listen, in your opinion, uh, do you think she's going to be okay?" Dean asked, genuinely wanting an answer. "And I don't mean just the arm, either. She's letting people touch her now but she's still not talking. She's so frightened all the time and the nightmares keep her up all night. I just don't want to do the wrong thing and make it worse."

Mike looked away, letting out a heavy breath. "If this were any other kid, I'd be setting up sessions with a counselor for her but we both know that's not an option."

"No, not really," Dean said, pondering the response of a child psychologist if Emily suddenly started talking and told him a demon had chased her and her mother around Texas then tried to burn them alive.

"Look, Dean, I don't know you, but I can see how you two have connected. You love this kid, right?

"I do."

"Then be sure she knows that. Be sure she knows she's the most important thing in her dad's life. When she feels safe and secure in that, when there's a bit more distance between her and the fire, I'd be willing to bet she'll find her voice again," Mike said, talking more like a father who knew his business than a doctor. He looked Dean straight in the eye, a slight sadness in his expression. "No matter what happens, you be that little girl's father and she'll be your child. Don't let anyone or anything get in the way of that. That's all she'll need."

The door banged open as Emily rushed back inside. She went straight to Dean and slapped a sticker over a hole in his jeans.

"Jack Sparrow, huh?" Dean laughed, pulling her up onto his hip. "I can dig being a pirate."

Emily grinned with a red lollipop bulging in her cheek. Popping her hand up in front of Dean's face, she showed him a green one.

"Candy and stickers," he said as he pulled the candy from her hand and peeled the wrapper away. "Could this day get any better? I don't think so." He walked to the door but looked back over his shoulder. "Thanks for your help, Doc. If I can ever do anything to help you, Ellen can find me, no matter where we end up. I mean that."

The older man nodded in response. "Just hang onto your family. All the thanks I need."

Dean squeezed Emily a bit more tightly and left.

***

"So she's better? That's great news," Sam said, leaning against Ellen's car as he sized up the looks of Austin's Backstreet Art Gallery. The relief he'd heard in Dean's voice made him happy.

"Yeah, I talked to Lindsey," Sam said. "She put me onto Calley's art dealer. Said she was a little on the off side. I'm waiting for her to get here so I can feel her out." Sam got a disgusted look, held out his phone and glared at it for a second. "Feel her OUT, you perv, not up."

A dark figure rounded the corner, heading for the front door of the gallery. The look was less Goth and more serious pretension. The woman's hair was short, black, and straight. Her glasses were large, black-rimmed spectacles that drew attention to her face. Everything else was more black. Black t-shirt. Black skirt. Black boots. Black fingernails. Black purse the size of the entire state.

Jamming her key into the lock on the gallery's front door, she shot an appraising look toward Sam. No smile or polite greeting like most of the natives he'd come into contact in Austin. The woman simply looked, evaluated, then twisted the lock open and went inside.

"I gotta go. She just showed up," Sam said, pushing himself off the car. "See if you can find anything else about that gas explosion. I still think that event fits in the timeline somewhere. Lindsey said she ran away from home afterward. See what you can dig up on the accident and her. If there's more there, maybe it can help us."

Sam snapped his phone shut, and stowed it on his belt and made his way into the gallery.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Firefly – Chapter 14

By: Suz Mc

This was turning out to be a great day. No meltdown at the doctor's office. Happy, albeit silent, little girl in the back seat. Breeze blowing. Sun shining. Foghat on the radio.

Dean drove across the brittle grass in front of the Roadhouse and decided that either the gates of Hell were about to open up and swallow them both, or this was going to be a legitimately great day. He eased the Impala over to the side of the building, stashing it well away from where the Roadhouse customers would be parking soon.

Ellen was standing over beside the one tree growing close to the building and she waved them over as Dean got Emily out of the car. Jake, the odd bartender, was working with a rope he had looped over one of the higher limbs.

"Come see what Jake has fixed up for you, Sweetie!" Ellen called out to Emily, who was bouncing along beside Dean.

There was no more hesitant holding of fingers. Her hand was grasped tightly in his and there was a big grin on her face. As Ellen stepped aside, Emily's eyes went wide and she ran toward an old tire Jake had just finished hanging from the most solid limb on the tree.

"Hang on tight," Dean said as he caught up to the little girl and raised her up to sit on homemade swing. After she'd wound her hands around the rope and tightly crossed her legs in front of her, Dean pulled her back a couple of feet and let go. She was so light, that the tire went a little higher than he'd expected and he started to move forward and slow her down just a bit but there wasn't any need. Emily wasn't scared and leaned her body back hard to force the tire higher and faster on its next pass.

Except for her silence and the white bandage that camouflaged her scar, Emily could have been any little kid, in any backyard, flying on a busted piece of rubber tire.

Jake looked rough, though. Dean hadn't seen him out in the daylight since they'd met a few days ago. The bartender wasn't that old, maybe in his fifties, but he had heavily wrinkled skin and wild, wiry gray hair that buzzed around his face. This was a man who'd seen more than a few nights outdoors with no place to sleep, smoked too many cigarettes, and held a few too many shot glasses. As the man stooped over to dust his hands off on his jeans, Dean said, "Thanks, man. This was a great idea. Really nice of you."

Jake's expression remained stoic and still. With one hand, he reached out to give the tire a little spin as Emily swung back by him, sending her into a fast circle and making her smile even wider. The child leaned her head back and long curly hair that had long ago fallen out of Dean's attempted ponytail flew behind her as the tire twirled around in the breeze. Jake gave Dean a quick nod. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and sounded of smoke and age. "Weren't nothing. Just an old broke down tire in the back of my truck." With that, Jake walked back toward the bar.

Ellen looked as surprised as Dean at hearing what amounted to a monologue from her bartender.

"Damn. Did he just say an entire sentence?" Dean said, giving Emily another push to keep her momentum going.

"That's the most I've heard him say in three months," Ellen said, laughing. "Will wonders never cease?"

After he turned his back to Emily, Dean said, "Sam called."

"Anything new?" Ellen said, keeping her voice low. "He run into any trouble?"

"Maybe and no, unless you count the fact that he's prissin' around Austin in cowboy boots driving a Honda," Dean said, laughing. "It gets funnier every time I think about Sam's big ole lanky self getting out of that sardine can wearing those shit kickers."

"It gets good gas mileage, smart boy," Ellen remarked, making a face.

"Yeah, there's that," Dean said, turning back toward his daughter. "I think she's a lot better, don't you?" He really wanted that confirmation from Ellen.

"I think she is, Dean," Ellen answered. "But pain like that comes in waves. Don't be disappointed if there are setbacks, okay?"

Realism had never been in short supply for Winchesters and he wasn't going to abandon it all together. Dean remembered enough from his own childhood to know Emily's pain wasn't going to be healed over and forgotten. Numbed up, maybe, but not forgotten. Hopefully, he could help her put enough good memories on top of that nightmare to deaden it. Right now, swinging outside with a smile on her face was a good start.

"I know, but today is good," he said, reaching out for another push. "You still okay to keep up with this princess tonight while I go to the First National Bank of Sucker?"

"Yes, and all I ask is that you not make anyone mad enough to bust up my brand new furniture."

Dean made an "x" on his chest. "Cross my heart, ma'am."

Ellen waved goodbye to Emily and left them alone.

Emily liked swinging. The higher she climbed, the harder she leaned backward to urge the old tire further upward. If her momentum began to lag, she'd wave at Dean to push once again. It was the most free he'd seen her since she had become his child. It hadn't taken a counselor or money to do it, either. Just an old swing and a dad with time.

He and Sam had loved swinging when they were little. Any opportunity to stop at a park was a chance to simulate flight. It only took one, "Hey, watch this, Sammy," for Dean to jump out at a particularly high apex of a swing and land in the emergency room with a broken arm. Dad was pissed. He'd asked how a ten-year-old could be so stupid. Dad didn't understand how it felt. That moment when you were as high as you could go and your stomach was in your face and it felt like you could actually fly and be free for a few seconds without the freaking weight of the world being on your back.

Before he thought about it, Dean called out, "Don't jump off, Emily."

She was facing him as the swing roared toward him in the breeze and for a split second he read the seed he'd just planted by the excited grin on her face.

"Don't even think about it, kid," he said, instantly regretting giving her the idea. Emily had leaned backward to speed up the motion and already had one hand loose from the rope before Dean could get in between her and his own screw up. He was able to grab the tire with one hand and Emily in his other arm and miraculously not land them both on the ground.

She was still smiling, hair a crazy tangle from the wind when he plucked her off the tire. "You're gonna make me crazy, aren't you, Cutie Pie?" he said, out of breath at the near Evil Knievel stunt she'd almost pulled off because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "No jumping. Promise?" Dean said, getting ready to plop her back on the tire swing. He heard a door slam in the lot behind him and ignored it to focus on Emily when her expression changed.

Immediately, the smile drained from her face and she grabbed onto him with both hands. Gone was the freedom of seconds earlier and that old fearful tightness came back full force.

"What's wrong, Emily?" Dean asked, turning toward her line of vision.

Drake was crossing the lot toward them, flanked by one of his partners from the other night. They weren't advancing quickly so he had time to get Emily away. Pulling her off of his chest, Dean put the child's feet on the ground and said, "Go inside, Emily, now."

Her response was to grab hold of his leg and stay exactly where she was.

"I mean it, Emily. Run. Now!" he said, sharpening his tone from a request to an order. His rough voice scared her and Dean felt her jump where her hand gripped the seam of his jeans.

Big brown eyes looked up at him differently, as if realizing she had to obey, but before she could move, Drake was already too close. That moment of hesitation, of disobedience, had put her in jeopardy. Payback is a bitch, Dad, Dean thought, as he moved Emily behind him and reached one hand to grip the pistol under the back of his shirt.

"No need to scare the little girl to death, Winchester," Drake said, holding up one hand in surrender. "I'm not here to make any trouble." The man appeared to be nervous, flipping the top to an old style Zippo lighter open and shut in his other hand.

"Good, then you won't mind turning your ass around and getting back in that car."

Drake looked in marginally better shape than he had the other night after Dean had busted open his wound and beat the crap out of him in the bar. The wound on his neck was covered with a professionally applied bandage and his cheekbone was raw and bruised. His lower lip was still split and it was obvious he'd had a trip to the hospital, which made Dean proud of his performance in the ass kicking competition they'd had. Drake handled the lighter more hectically under Dean's glare, snapping it open and shut over and over again.

"Look," the man said, stopping his progress a good distance out of fist range, "I just wanted to apologize for being such an ass."

"Right."

Drake put his hands down and gave the appearance of someone about to eat a huge dish of humility. "We had a hunt go bad that morning and got our asses handed to us," he said, glancing at his buddy. "Bob here had to sew me up and I guess all the whiskey and fucking up put me in a bad mood. I saw you and just got mean."

"And got your ass kicked."

"Yeah, got just what I deserved," he answered, taking a few steps forward. "I didn't mean all that crap about you and your brother," he shot a look toward Emily who was clinging to Dean's leg and peering around to watch, "or your little one, there. Hey there, Precious. You don't have to be scared of Ole Drake."

As Drake flicked the silver lighter open, a snap of fire jumped out and stung his fingers. "Shit!" he yelled, dropping it to the ground. After retrieving his toy, Drake looked back at Emily's terrified face and said, "Sorry 'bout that. Guess I'm just nervous. I don't apologize very often."

Dean wasn't about to turn this into some brothers in arms bullshit moment but he wanted this confrontation over, now. If the dude was sincere, fine. If not, he wanted the asshole away from his kid.

"Fine. You guys go your way with no hard feelings, okay?" Dean said, putting his free hand on Emily's head.

"Great!" Drake said, clapping his hands together. "Why don't we go in and I buy you a beer?"

"I think it's a better idea if you guys just move on," Dean answered, pulling Emily up onto his hip and moving toward the building. "Ellen's not as forgiving as I am." He kept facing toward them, not willing to turn his back.

"Sure, we'll do that." Drake looked back to his vehicle and tapped his friend on the shoulder. "Probably best to let her cool off, too. Just so as we're good, Winchester. Never know when we might need to help each other out."

"Sure." Dean took a few careful steps backward and watched as the men turned to leave. He stood still and watched them get back into their truck and drive away. He gave Emily a squeeze as he whispered into her ear, "Don't worry, I don't trust them, either." Pulling Emily back so he could look in her eyes, Dean said, "Cutie Pie, I'm not mad, but I need you to promise me that the next time I tell you to do something, to run or anything like that, that you'll do it. Okay?"

He never, ever wanted to see that look in her eyes again. That look that said, "I failed." She was scared and she'd hung on to him instead of running away. A big tear pooled in her eye and he squeezed her back close to him so he didn't have to watch it roll down her face. "It's okay, Baby. Forget it," he said, taking her back inside. "This was my fault, not yours."

So much for great afternoons.

***

"Son of a bitch! I think I stepped on a fuckin' rattlesnake!" yelled a dirty man with his arm in a cast. The man jumped into Drake's truck, sweaty and puffing out heavy breaths.

"Quit your bitching, Lonnie," Drake spat back, screeching the truck down a dirt road on the other side of the trees between them and the Roadhouse. "Did you plant the tracker on his car?"

"Yeah, I did it," Lonnie answered, shoving the third man over further toward the middle of the bench seat. "But I don't understand why I had to crawl through the freakin' brush when we could just wait to catch the bastard alone and beat the crap out of him."

"You were always lacking in imagination, Lonnie," Drake said, checking his GPS to be sure it was receiving. "I'm not just looking to cold cock Deano. I want to watch him for a while. Who knows," Drake got an unpleasant smirk and flicked open his Zippo to light a cigar, "some more satisfying opportunity might come along if we track him. Sometimes there are worse things than a beatin', my boy."

"Not meaning to argue or anything, Drake," Lonnie said, rolling down the window to let in some cool air, "but shouldn't we get back to tracking that evil son of a bitch that tore up your neck before it feeds again instead of hunting humans?"

"Winchesters are just barely human, Lonnie, and I'm declaring it open season."

***

Chimes rang as Sam made his way through the gallery door. It was a funky kind of place, not like the stark, contemporary galleries Jess had dragged him to when they were in school. Being in love with her made him go places he never would have gone and certainly never would have felt comfortable being on his own. One art appreciation course, and he was in love with Jess and he'd go anywhere she wanted. It had been a very long time since Sam had felt her in his head. He felt guilty about that.

He made his way around brick columns with wildly colored canvases mounted on them. Welded metal sculptures and blown glass pieces stood on tables scattered over a wooden floor and he tried to be careful not to bump into something he couldn't possibly replace.

"Must be paying Rangers at a better grade these days if you're shopping for art."

The woman in black was leaning against the back wall of the open room, arms folded over her chest, appraising him.

"Not exactly, ma'am," Sam said, making his way toward her. "I'm Sam Langly, Texas—"

"Ranger. Yeah, I see," she said, running her eyes up and down his body before focusing on the badge at his waist. "Come to arrest me for something, Son, or are you some frustrated cop wanting to run away to an artist's colony and paint impressionist versions of crime scenes?"

"Have you done something to be arrested for?" Sam understood when he was being examined. This woman's dark eyes were scanning him and watching every move.

"Well, not today," she answered, taking a step forward and stretching out her hand, "but the day is still young. Plenty of time to corrupt a young man like yourself." As she shook his hand, she said, "I'm Ariel Anderson and this is my gallery. What can I do for you?"

"Nice to meet you," Sam said, glad to see a smile replace the woman's scowl. "I'm looking into Calley Rail's death."

"Really," Ariel said, a sarcastic bite creeping into her tone. "And what makes you think you badass Rangers can find something when the cops and fire department can't come up with anything better than 'fire of unknown origin'?"

The woman walked past Sam, heading for a pile of papers on a corner desk. Sam followed. "I just need to ask you a few questions," Sam said to her back.

"I'm sure you do, but I'm not sure I can give you any answers that you would want to hear."

"Calley seemed to make you an awful lot of money, Ms. Anderson. I'd think you'd be anxious to help find out what happened to her and her daughter," Sam said, surprised when the woman whirled on him, anger making her seem a little taller than before.

"You don't know shit about me or how I felt about that girl!" she yelled, slamming down papers onto the desk and rattling everything on it. "And if you want me to tell you anything, I think you'd better explain why you're playing Ranger dress up with your boots and sloppy fake badge!"

Being outted always threw him when he'd felt pretty secure in his cover and Sam tried to reclaim his identity. "Ms. Anderson, I can assure you, I am who I say I am."

"I may have been born at night but it wasn't last night!" She got right up in his face, not an ounce of fear holding her back. "Your hair's too long, your accent's too fake, and you're lying. Plain and simple."

Being caught sometimes had its advantages. He could be himself and focus all his energy on the job instead of the persona he was trying to maintain. "How did you know?"

Her anger defused, just a tad, and Ariel replied, "I spent ten years as a nun and a teacher and I can spot lyin' boys at fifty paces. Had you pegged on the sidewalk."

"Okay, let's start again," Sam said, popping the badge from his waist and sliding it into his pocket. "I'm Sam Winchester."

"And the truth shall set you free," Ariel said, sitting back on the corner of her desk. "Ask your questions, Boy. Let's see if you think I'm as crazy as the cops did."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Firefly – Chapter 15

By Suz Mc

Ariel Anderson didn't strike Sam as an occultist at all. To someone with a more straight-edged definition of odd, maybe she seemed off, but not the least bit frightening in an evil way. Granted, if she was pissed off, she could scare the pants off anyone, but Lindsey's intimations were way off base.

"Coffee?" she asked, offering Sam a cup. "I swear it's not poisoned," she said, waggling an eyebrow behind her oversized glasses.

"Thanks," he answered, taking the cup and a seat beside her on an out of the way sofa.

Settling herself, Ariel took a long drink and said, "Winchester, huh? Are you Emily's father?"

"No, that would be my older brother, Dean."

"And is Emily with him? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's with him and they're getting to know each other," Sam answered, trying to be careful not to give away too much information. "He didn't know about Emily until after the fire or he would have been in her life." Sam felt a strong urge to defend Dean's honor. "He's a good guy. He'll take good care of Emily."

"Good," she said, softly. "I never pressed Calley about Emily's father. She just said it was complicated and maybe one day she'd bring him into Emily's life. After all she'd been through, I just didn't want to push."

That was the opening Sam was waiting for and he took it. "Ms. Anderson."

"Ariel, please," she responded, smiling. "Ms. Anderson sounds like an old lady, not a hip art dealer."

"Okay, Ariel, I need to put the pieces of Calley's life together so I can figure out what happened to her. Can you help me?"

"Well, I can tell you this much," Ariel answered, setting her cup down on a table, "something evil has chased that girl for years and it caught her."

"Evil, like how?"

"Boy, when you spend ten years immersed in good and evil like I did when I was a penguin, you sorta get the inside track. There's lots of good in this world and the next, but evil is as real as you and I," she said as she looked over her glasses at him. "But I get the feeling you know that already, don't you, Sam?"

"You're pretty perceptive."

"That's what makes me good at my job," she said, waving a hand toward the work displayed around them. "I can see who's got the goods, who speaks the truth and who's just fakin' it."

"Calley had the goods, so to speak?" Sam settled back in his seat. One trick to getting information was just to shut up and let people talk. Dad was a master at that. He always said that people wanted to tell their story, you just needed get out of the way and let them.

Ariel relaxed beside him. "When Calley showed up in Austin, she was so green, so innocent. She was going to school, selling paintings on the street, singing in a couple of local bands, just doing the things kids do to get by. I saw one of her paintings a friend of mine bought and it was passion on canvas." Ariel looked away, seemingly reliving that moment when she discovered Calley's work. "It was life and light and you could feel the joy and pain of whatever subject she painted. The second the art community found Calley, her career exploded."

"Overnight success, huh?" Sam asked.

"Hell, over-hour success. She couldn't paint hard enough or fast enough and it was a wonderful time for her," Ariel said, smiling at the memory. "It was the first time I think this child had felt worthy in her life. Those rich bastards who raised her sure didn't make her feel that way."

"So things were going well for Calley here?"

"Totally. She was successful and had friends and a home. It was certainly working out great for me," she said, draining the last drink from her cup. "Lots of truly creative people are nuts, pain in the ass primadonnas if they get any acclaim. Not Calley. She was just a down to earth, honestly nice kid. Period. She worked hard. Had plans and dreams. Helped you out if you needed it." The woman paused and pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes. "I miss her every day. She was a good, good friend."

Sam wanted to remember every word Ariel was telling him about Calley. Emily was going to have to rely on stories from other people to know her mother and Sam understood how precious those borrowed memories would be to her. He knew his own mother only from the perspective of others and he wanted to make sure to get that right for her when the day came for him to retell this tale to his niece.

"You said something evil was chasing Calley. When did that start?"

Most people took deep breaths before they jumped into ugly stories with both feet. Ariel did the same. "Calley's career, her life, was just about as happy as can be until August of 2007. Then she dropped off the face of the earth and was missing until she showed up in a hospital outside of Beaumont two months later in October. I drove down there with a couple of her friends and she was in bad shape. Calley had been beaten over and over. The doctors said she'd been sexually abused and she was near dead from dehydration when she was found and brought into the ER."

"Did she say what had happened?" Sam already knew what had happened. He'd heard Dean's story. He'd seen the paintings. Multiply that times ten and he had a fairly good picture of Calley's personal Hell.

"No. She wouldn't talk to the police or to us about where she'd been or who had hurt her," Ariel answered, then paused for a moment. "I asked years later if Emily's father was one of the men who had hurt her but she said no, that he wasn't a bad man and what happened wasn't his fault. Was she right?"

"He's the best man I know and if he'd known she was in trouble, he would have helped her," Sam said, hoping she'd believe him. "Did she ever tell you anything?"

"When she was stronger, I brought her home and she locked herself up in her studio for weeks. Wouldn't talk to anyone or let anyone see what she was painting. Then she found out she was pregnant and it snapped her out of it. Her entire focus turned outward again. One day, she just showed up with these stacks of canvases, all wrapped in paper, and told me to store them and swear no one would ever see them until she said to release them."

"I've seen them," Sam said, then quickly added, "on the website. At least, I think I've seen the ones you're talking about. The Smoke Series?"

"Yeah," Ariel whispered, sadly. "Anyway, after she found out she was pregnant, that's when she came to me asking about research material." For the first time, Ariel seemed hesitant, as if unsure whether she should venture into the next part of her story.

"Ariel, you can trust me. There's pretty much nothing you could say that would shock me and I'm not going to think you're crazy," Sam said, looking her straight in the eye so she'd see he was sincere.

"Calley wanted research material on demons and how to repel them." The woman stared at Sam, assessing his reaction. "That's the crazy stuff that put the cops off when I told them."

"Crazy is relative, Ariel. That doesn't even register on my crazy scale."

"At first, I thought she was just trying to find an answer for whatever despicable things had been done to her but I soon realized she was serious and gave her what I could find," she said. Before she continued, Ariel rose from the couch and walked to the front door. She quickly turned the lock and flipped a small metal sign to 'closed.'

When she returned, she said, "There, that's better. Where was I?"

"Why did Calley come to you for research on demons?"

"Suppose she figured I might have some secret mojo from the church."

"Do you?"

"Let's just say, I spoke to a few friends and gave Calley a couple of books. She found a symbol that was supposed to be foolproof if you could get it right and she worked until she could do it."

"The symbol on the paintings?"

"Yes," Ariel answered. "She put it on everything. Her house. Her paintings. Even had a local artist who works in silver make a charm for Emily to wear. Drove that guy crazy making and remaking it until it was perfect. He threatened to send her to a shrink because she dropped her blood into every attempt."

"She doesn't have it now," Sam said, imagining the mighty will it took for a mother to stand over melted silver and bleed into it to protect her child.

The shock on Ariel's face was tangible. "You have to be wrong. It's on a silver chain around her neck with a crystal cross. Calley never let her take it off. She even polished it around her neck."

"I've seen the necklace but there's no protective charm attached," Sam said, watching Ariel's expression become more troubled.

Ariel was clearly disturbed. "Calley put so much of herself into protecting that little girl. It just hurts me that Emily doesn't have that anymore." Shaking off her despair, the woman continued. "After Emily was born, Calley was whole again. She put whatever happened behind her and started over with her baby. That little girl was her whole life and she was fine until about six weeks ago. "

"What happened six weeks ago?"

"This old friend of Calley's showed up here at the gallery looking for her," Ariel said, pausing to recall the name, "Lindsey Deaton."

Lindsey Deaton's story began to deflate in Sam's mind, switching her from informant to suspect. "Wait, Ariel. You're sure she came looking for Calley, not the other way around?"

"Definitely," Ariel responded, looking over to a customer at the door who had just walked away. "She said she'd just moved here and was an old friend from high school. Wanted Calley's number, but I didn't give it to her. Artists can attract some weird groupies and I wanted to make sure she was legit. I gave Calley the girl's number and she seemed anxious to reconnect with her. Said they'd been in some accident in high school and Lindsey'd had a hard time coping."

"Did Calley talk to you about their meeting?"

"She didn't talk about seeing Lindsey, but Calley's whole demeanor changed the next day, Sam," she said, tensing up as the story got closer to the end. "The panic, the fear from '07 was back and she was desperate to find Emily's father. She told me to get those paintings she'd packed away and put them on the website. When I opened them, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"I knew what had happened to her and all that demon talk was real. Those paintings weren't strictly art. They were that girl's only way to tell what had happened to her and she wanted them out there so someone could see them."

Ariel got to her feet, walking over to the only Calley Rail piece still part of her collection. It was marked "private collection – not for sale." It was a self-portrait of Calley holding an infant Emily in her arms while their lives were still whole.

"Two weeks after that Lindsey Deaton showed up, Calley was dead and Emily was gone. I couldn't help either of them and that's something I'll always be sorry for," Ariel said to the painting, as if asking for their forgiveness. "Somehow, whatever got to Calley all those years ago came back and my gut tells me it was after Emily. Calley would have died to protect her and I think she did."

Ariel folded her arms in front of her and silently took in the details of the painting then she eased one hand up to wipe her eyes underneath her glasses. "I know this much, you find out who took that charm from Emily and I bet you'll find out who got Calley killed." After her eyes were dry, she turned to Sam and said, "You believe all this, Sam Winchester?"

"Yes, I do." Sam got up from his seat and walked over to look at the painting. "The protective symbol on Calley's door was damaged. Somebody let it in."

"Can you and your brother do something about it?"

"We're going to try," Sam said, hoping that was even possible. Sam pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Ariel. "If you think of anything else, please call me."

Ariel took the card, flipping it around in her fingers. "Tell Emily I miss her and tell your brother that there are people in Austin who love that little girl and we're here for her if she ever needs anything." She looked back at the painting and said, "When she grows up, when she's ready for this painting, it's here waiting for her."

"I will," Sam said, and took his leave from the gallery.

Once out on the sidewalk, he snatched out his phone and dialed his brother's number. He wasn't sure exactly what to tell Dean. Lindsey Deaton had an enormous arrow pointing right at her now that he knew she had lied. His next visit with Miss Drama Teacher was going to be less good cop and more pissed off Sam.

"Hey, what's going on?" Sam said, on his way to the tiny car he dreaded getting back inside.

"Nothing much. What about you?"

"I need you to do something for me?"

Sam expected a smartass comeback that he'd have to wade through before getting to business but it didn't come forth. Dean's voice was tense and he kept to the subject. "What?"

"Look on that necklace Emily wears and see if there's an extra loop on it."

"Hang on." Sam could hear Dean gently talking to Emily. When he came back to the phone, he said, "Yeah. Looks like there was another charm on it but it's gone."

"Calley's art dealer said Emily wore a silver version of the protective symbol," Sam said, folding down into the seat of the Honda.

Sam heard Dean tell Emily to go into the other room and then Dean said, "You think somebody took it?"

"I do."

"Who?"

"Lindsey Deaton."

"You think she scrapped the mark off Calley's door and let Amora into the house?"

"Money's on yes"

"I want that bitch dead."

"Can I search her house first and be sure she did it before we kill her?" Sam knew he should have kept his mouth shut until he had some more proof.

"Fine." His voice was rough and angry over the line. "Find out what she knows and if she did it, then we gank her."

Sam ignored Dean's bloodthirsty rant. He understood Dean's anger at anyone responsible for hurting Emily but there was something more going on in his voice. "Is everything all right up there? You sound weird." The last time they'd talked, Dean had sounded relaxed and happy to be spending time with his daughter.

There was silence for a few seconds and Dean said, "Drake showed up to apologize and it just didn't feel right."

"Apologize? That is weird. What did he do?"

"Nothing. Just said he was sorry and split. I'm still keeping an eye out for him, though. I don't trust him."

"What else?"

"I told Emily to run when Drake showed up and she didn't and when I corrected her about it later, she cried." There was the trouble. The last thing Dean wanted to do was hurt Emily and it was clear he thought he had.

"Did you yell?" Sam asked, trying not to sound judgmental.

"No. Well, when I told her to run I yelled but not later."

Damn. He was going to agonize over every single decision and this little girl was going to learn quickly that her tears had serious power over Dean. "Dean, just because you told her she should listen to you doesn't make you a bad guy," Sam said. "That's what you're supposed to do."

"You remember how pissed off Dad would get if we didn't call him 'sir' and how he'd blow if we didn't obey? Remember that?" Dean's voice sounded sad and angry. "We were scared of him, Sam. We loved him and we were scared of him at the same time." Despite all of Dean's desperate devotion to John Winchester, the very last thing he wanted to become was a father forged in the same mold.

"You think she's going to be scared of you because you told her she did something wrong so she wouldn't do it again and get hurt?" Sam asked. This wasn't the time to let Dean wallow in his doubt. "What a wus. I bet you were hugging her and gave her a big kiss during this terrible scolding and you ended up telling her it was all your fault anyway, right? Damn, what a holy terror, Dean. I'm scared just thinking about it."

"But she cried, Sam," Dean said, still beating himself up. "I don't want her to be scared of me like we were of Dad. Not ever."

"Listen, you've got to teach her things and she's four and scared anyway and sometimes she's going to cry. You can't freak out every time, okay?"

"Okay."

"Look, the other day when I said you sounded like Dad, I was wrong to say that to you. You're not Dad. You're Dean." Sam cranked the car and pulled out into traffic. "Stop being a weenie or Emily's going to walk all over you like the little bitch you are."

"You're the bitch."

"Jerk," Sam said, a smile returning to his face. "Look, I'm going to watch Lindsey and get into her house. I may have to wait until she leaves for work in the morning."

"Go get laid or something."

"Why don't you go get laid and get in a better mood?"

"I've got to make some money and then put this kid to bed, Loser," Dean said, sounding more like himself.

"Great! More women left up there for me when I get back."

Dean dissolved into hysterical laughter. "Yeah, that's a good one."

Sam closed his phone and shook his head. "If I ever give up hunting, I'm giving parenting classes."

***

Dean found Emily in her room with coloring books spread out over her bed. Sleeping Beauty seemed to be the princess of the day and she was coloring her dress half blue and half pink. As usual, Emily wasn't easily distracted from coloring, but she did look up to quickly acknowledge him before going back to her work.

The bed creaked under his weight as he made himself comfortable beside her. "Uncle Sammy said to tell you hello and he misses you," Dean said, watching Emily fill up the page with blue and pink. Putting a hand on her back, he decided this might be the easiest way to talk to her about this afternoon. "Listen, Emily, this afternoon when I yelled at you to run, I want you to know I'm not mad that you didn't. Really, I'm not. But, when I raise my voice or sound bossy when I'm telling you to do something like that it's because I want to keep you safe, okay? It's important that you do what I say when that happens."

She didn't look up and he took her chin in his hand to gently turn her his way. "Understand, Cutie Pie? I'll never tell you to do something that's not for your own good, 'kay?"

The little girl gifted him with a relieved smile and nodded her head.

"Good. So you're not mad at me?"

Another shake of the head followed and she gave up the coloring and climbed into his lap. She sat there for a long time, head resting on his chest, fooling around with the amulet hanging from his neck. Seeing another opportunity, Dean said, "Did you have something else on that pretty necklace of yours? Something silver?"

Still holding the amulet, Emily looked up at him with a tinge of fear returning to her eyes. She shook her head up and down then dropped Dean's necklace and grabbed her own.

"Did someone take it from you, Emily? Lindsey? The lady who brought you here?"

The color drained from her face instantly and her breathing changed from normal to panic. Her frantic grip on the cross tightened.

"Did she hurt you, Sweetie?"

Emily's response was to bury her face in his t-shirt and grab his scar with one shaky little hand. Dean gathered her up closely, not needing a more detailed answer than the trembling child in his arms.

"It's okay, Baby," he whispered, rocking her back and forth. "You don't have to think about it anymore." When she calmed down, he pulled her back and said, "Looks like you still have some work to do on Sleeping Beauty." He eased her off of his lap and after a couple of deep breaths, Emily stretched out over the blanket and went back to her artwork.

He watched her for a long time, sorry that he'd upset her again but at least he had some proof for Sam. That bitch had taken the protective charm from Emily's neck and made her vulnerable. She'd scared his child down to her bones. Whatever Lindsey had done or said to Emily, she'd had days alone with her in the car to thoroughly terrify a four-year-old and had done an excellent job of layering it on top of the trauma from the fire.

Dean typed a quick text message to Sam's phone, telling him about Emily's reaction and ended it with "L is one dead bitch" and closed his phone with a snap.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Firefly – Chapter 16

By: Suz Mc

Dean had set his own limit for the night. He'd netted five bills from his work for the evening and, in his generosity, hadn't taken it all from one guy but had split it between two poor slobs. They were both in the corner, drinking up the twenty they had left between them, too drunk to figure out what the hell had happened.

It was hard to concentrate, but narrowing his focus to the balls on the table had given Dean a break from the different problems he was juggling in his head. Emily. Fatherhood. Sam in Austin. Calley. Demons. Wanting to murder that bitch in Texas. Not a great deal of room for much else in his head and sleep wasn't anywhere on that list. Propping himself up on a barstool, Dean counted his take then crammed it into his pocket.

Patting the bar, he said, "Jake, how 'bout a shot?"

Silent Jake pulled the bottle he'd been pouring for Dean all night out from under the counter and filled a glass. He left it in front of Dean with no expression or sound and went back to filling a couple beer glasses.

"Having a good night, thanks for asking," Dean said in a good natured jab at Jake's non-existent chatter.

"Glad to hear it," came a smooth voice to his left. A leggy brunette had eased up beside him and was smiling in a warm and friendly way as she settled herself on a neighboring stool.

"Well, hello to you," Dean said, downing his drink and feeling his mood lift. She was hot and he was in a good mood and that generally made a good night even better. "I'm Dean and you need a drink." Dean waved at Jake and he obliged quickly.

"I'm Jeanie and I'd love a drink as long as I can sit here by a guy with such a lucky streak going," she said, running a nail around the edge of the shot glass Jake popped up onto the counter beside her.

They sat there for a few minutes, each trying to out-flirt each other at the bar. The space between them was getting smaller and smaller and Jeanie had crossed the first personal space barrier. Resting on hand on Dean's shoulder, she leaned in and whispered, "Why don't we grab a beer for the road and go for a little drive?" She leaned in with her lips touching his ear and it went straight to his happy place, just like he liked it. "I know a place with stars and a blanket. Wanna see?"

He wanted to grab his keys and her and ride off to see that blanket she was ready to show off. "Let's go" was on its way out of his mouth while her hand was squeezing the inside of his thigh.

But reality bulked up in between his brain and his boner. Dean took a deep breath and put a couple of inches between her lips and his face. Jeanie must have felt the temperature drop because she turned her own motor down a notch or two and leaned back.

"Uh, Jeanie, I'd really, really, oh you don't know how really, like to go with you but," he hesitated just a second to imagine what he was about to be missing, "I've got someone waiting for me and I have to say no."

Jeanie gave a huge sigh and finished off her shot. "Wow," she said. "I don't get turned down often."

Reflexively, he leaned back closer before he caught himself. "And this is probably the first time I've ever done the turning down. Ever. Really. You are amazingly hot and I am so completely sorry. You have no idea how much," Dean said, forcing himself to pull back again.

"I'm amazed. An honorable guy in a bar," Jeanie picked up her purse, getting ready to leave. "She must be pretty special."

"She is," Dean said. An involuntary smile came over his face thinking about Emily and he added, "She's four years old and waiting upstairs for me to tuck her in. Hope you understand."

The disappointed look on Jeanie's face immediately changed to a soft, compassionate one. "Oh, you're a dad? That is so sweet that you'd rather be with your little girl than get laid! Aw, I just love that."

"Really? You're not mad?"

"No! I think dads are eight kinds of sexy. Very, very hot."

"Really?"

"Really."

This was puzzling and Dean shook his head trying to figure it out. "Uh, thanks," he said, sliding off the barstool still trying to wrap his brain around why his hot factor was increased by being a father. "Maybe if the timing works out we could—" He stopped himself. "Never mind."

"Oh, I completely understand, Daddy," Jeanie whispered as he passed by. "But if your schedule frees up, call me." She shoved a piece of paper with her number on it into his pocket, digging her hand in a little farther than necessary. "You're at the top of my DILF list, Dean. See you 'round."

Dean watched her walk toward the door then started laughing when he finally translated what she'd said.

"DILF," he muttered, heading upstairs. "That's so great. I'm a dad and I'm still hotter than Sam. Perfect." He pulled out his phone to send a text to his brother.

"DILF?" Sam read the text then started laughing. "What a moron."

Sam tossed the phone onto the seat beside him and took another look toward Lindsey Deaton's house. She was still there, but the shades were drawn tight and he could only see a hint of light glowing through them.

There was little chance Sam would be getting into that house alone tonight but he wasn't about to take the chance of missing an opportunity by going back to his motel on the highway. With much aggravation, Sam shoved the seat back as far as it would go and tried to make himself comfortable. The only way to have room for his laptop was to twist around sideways and lean against the door. "Note to self, never borrow Ellen's car," he muttered, firing up his wireless connection.

Stakeouts always gave him lots of thinking time and he'd hit on a bang up idea of how to track down information on the 2002 explosion. He'd waded through Landon Rail's financials earlier and found the payola disguised as contributions he'd used to make the news and investigations go away. Cops and fire departments might be persuaded to dump photos but insurance companies were a different story. It only took about forty-five minutes to hit pay dirt.

Sam hated having these discussions with Dean over the phone but he didn't have much choice. The lights going off in Lindsey's living room caught his attention and Sam kissed good-bye any chance of getting out of this car before morning as he dialed Dean's cell.

"What?"

"Hey, DILF."

"I'm your brother. That's disgusting," Dean answered, his voice wavering like he was half asleep.

"Wait till you see what I found. Can you get downstairs to Ellen's computer?"

"Just tell me," came the slightly more coherent response. In the space of a few seconds, Dean changed his mind. "Wait a minute. I'm heading that way."

"Okay, I'll send it and it'll be there waiting for you," Sam said, tapping away on the keys.

"Where are you?"

"In front of Lindsey's house waiting for her to leave in the morning."

"I don't know what that bitch did to Emily but the mention of her name sent that little girl into a panic. Make her tell you what she did."

Sam fell silent for a moment, his own anger building. Lindsey didn't have the appearance of someone who would hurt a child, but brutality often came in pretty packages. He shook it off and got the photo on his screen so he could look and talk at the same time.

The wreckage of a suburban basement displayed in black and white, showing only half of the room. Broken beams and chunks of sheetrock were strewn everywhere. Soot and streaks of powder were smeared over almost every surface but there didn't seem to be any charred debris like you would expect from a gas explosion and fire.

Five minutes later, Dean was back on the line. "Okay, I'm here and it's downloading. It's here. Damn, where did you find this?"

"Insurance file," Sam answered. "Take a close look at the lower right corner. See it?"

Sam scanned the image, and then decided to enlarge it so it was easier to see, giving Dean a chance to digest what he was seeing. A small section of concrete was visible beneath a busted piece of ductwork. An intricate symbol had been painted on the floor. It was similar to the protective mark Calley had been using but different. More angular and more aggressive. Beside it was one clean spot, an untouched rectangle not covered in soot.

"What the hell is that symbol?" Dean said, obviously analyzing the photo's every detail.

"Spell work, maybe?"

" Looks like your theory about the explosion could be right on the money. Bet that's sulfur residue mixed in with the soot and that blank spot looks like a book could have been laying there open." Dean's voice was somber, even a bit disappointed.

"Seems Landon Rail made a huge contribution to the fire department auxiliary the next week, as well as the police department's aid fund. The family who owned the house got a new one and college for their two surviving kids. Maybe he didn't want what the girls were doing getting out?" Sam was piecing together the puzzle and equally unhappy about what he'd found. "Follow the money, Dean."

"Not good PR to have your ward involved in business like that, is it?"

"Probably not. So he cleaned up the mess and when Calley got out of the hospital, he shipped her off to the nuns."

"So," Dean said, sounding wearier than before, "we're thinking they had the book and it's gone by the time of this photo. Who got it? Firemen? Cops?"

"Ah, this is why I get the big bucks, dude," Sam answered. "Calley was hurt and not conscious until she got to the ER. The two dead teenagers were out of commission, but Lindsey Deaton was mobile enough to crawl out of the basement and call 911." Sam stared at the photo and the complete devastation. The blast from Amora exploding into the room must have been terrifying to a bunch of clueless kids if her appearance did that much damage.

"Could be," Dean said, processing his own theories. "Do you think they summoned Amora?"

"You remember being sixteen? How stupid you can be? One of those girls gets hold of that book, they play dress up at Hot Topic and what starts out as a Goth sleepover turns into wide open Hell." Sam was trying to weave a scenario that left Calley in the dark. He wasn't ready to lay full blame on her for what was happening to Emily, even if she'd been a foolish teenager when it was set in motion.

"This sucks, Sam," Dean said, his voice a combination of exhaustion and frustration. "Lindsey knows what happened. Back then and now. She's responsible for this. I know it."

"I'll find out," Sam said, feeling Dean's anger rising. "How was tonight?"

"Money in my pocket, kid snoring in her pj's, Dean sadly not laid."

"That's a first."

"Yeah," Dean said, the sound of the stairs creaking through the phone. "Can't be bringing pickups upstairs with Emily still having so much trouble sleeping."

It was the sound of a real and true father coming through the line and it didn't sound like Dean Winchester. Or, at least it didn't sound like Dean Winchester before he'd found a little girl who he fell in love with. He was changing. He'd already changed. If that test came back the wrong way, it would destroy his brother and Sam was no longer sure he could be part of that destruction – truth or no truth.

"Here's a thought, Dean, go to bed."

"You're a friggin' genius, Sam. I was in bed before you woke me up."

"My bad."

"Thanks."

"For what?"

There was no more smartass banter coming through the line. "Thanks for being the kind of brother who'd go after this bitch for me and let me take care of my kid."

"You're welcome," Sam said, suddenly glad to be the one folded up in a Honda in Austin. "Is that sniffling I hear? You're turning into a real wuss."

"Shut up."

"Hang up."

"Goodnight and call me the second you get into her place."

Sam closed the line, shut his computer and tried to find room for his legs in the Hot Wheels he was stuck inside for the next few hours.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Firefly – Chapter 17

BY: Suz Mc

_He tried to be quiet but it was hard when he was in such a hurry. Dean left his bag in the hall and tried not to stomp as he made his way up the stairs to the loft studio. Light flooded through the open door and down the stairs to greet him as he got closer to the top. Today, he was even willing to tolerate her revolting musical choices and he swallowed a groan as "True Colors" wafted through the air._

_Calley was standing barefoot in front of a larger than normal canvas that was about two feet taller than her five-two body. Her black sweatpants were rolled down low on her hips and the black tank top she wore was splattered with paint. She was a great artist but sloppy as hell. The piece looked nearly finished but that was just his opinion and it was generally wrong._

"_You look ready for a break," Dean called out, laughing when Calley jumped._

"_Oh my GOD! You're here!" Brush and palette hit the floor, scattering gobs of color everywhere. _

_Dean's arms were filled with girl and she didn't waste any time occupying his mouth with something much more fun than explaining why he was home three days early. He would tell her about the rare occurrence of finding a spirit's bones in a marked grave and having a salt and burn actually work on the first try at some later time. _

"_Amazing greeting you give, Girl," he said, when Calley let him come up for air. "Can I go out and come in again?"_

"_If you leave this house, I'll hunt you down and kiss you to death." She started with the kissing again and Dean reached up to tangle his fingers in her curly blonde hair and gave up talking for a while. She felt so good against him and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her closer. He wanted her as close as she could get. _

_Abruptly, and somewhat painfully, Calley stopped rubbing the inside of his mouth with her tongue and pulled away. Taking his hand, she led him over to the painting in progress. _

"_What do you think?" It was like her to simply accept that he was here and not throw pointed questions about where he'd been and what he'd been doing. _

"_She's beautiful," Dean said, taking in the bright, round face of a little girl. "Who is she?"_

_Calley reached behind her and pulled his arms to circle her waist. "I don't know. Her face just popped into my head. Might not even sell it I like her so much." Whirling excitedly inside his grasp, she smiled up at him. "Wanna go grab something to eat? There's a really cool new restaurant beside the gallery. I'm sure they have pie. Chocolate pie," she said, wiggling a little against his zipper._

"_Damn, I love it when you talk pie," he whispered, not thinking about pie at all. "Let me grab a shower."_

_She rose up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and said, "Me, too. I'm a mess."_

"_You are."_

"_Meet you in thirty minutes," she said, taking off for the stairs._

_He had to laugh at that. "When have you ever been ready in thirty minutes?" he said, slowly following her down the stairs._

_Dean took a long time with his shower, washing off the dead and soaking his tired muscles. He'd driven all night to get back to her and his body was paying for it. When he wrapped a towel around his waist and emerged from the steam into the bedroom, he expected to find Calley's clothes scattered everywhere as she went through five different outfits. That was not the case._

_The room was still and ringed with candles and didn't smell the least bit like the rancid motel room he'd been in the night before. There was the faint hum of Bad Company B-side songs playing in the background and his muscles were definitely not tired anymore. _

"_We're not going out, are we?" Dean said, turning toward Calley who was curled up under the sheets. _

"_No, we're not," she purred, wiggling her finger in his direction. "You're dropping that towel and bringing your pretty ass over here to me." She let the sheets dip a bit so he knew there was nothing but eager woman underneath._

"_Pretty ass?!" He had to laugh out loud at that one. Calley was naked, wrapped in only her slippery yellow sheets, ordering him around like he was porn star for hire. "Is that all I am to you? A pretty ass?"_

"_It's one of my favorite parts of you. The first part I noticed," she said, patting the bed beside her and smiling in a very dirty way. "I saw your pretty ass walking away down the street and I was just mesmerized."_

_Dean made his way over to the bed and watched her dramatically lick her lips when he dropped the towel to the floor and eased into bed beside her. "Yeah, and if you hadn't been objectifying me, that mugger wouldn't have grabbed your purse and I wouldn't have had to save YOUR pretty ass from being dragged down the sidewalk." _

"_Objectifying?" Calley said, slipping her arms around his body. "Is that was I was doing? I thought I was just people watching. Painters do that and your pretty ass is just so aesthically enticing. That's not objectifying, is it?" _

"_Yes, it is," he said, feeling the warmth from the shower still clinging to her skin. "But you can keep on doing it." Slowly, he pressed his mouth against her neck, drawing small circles against her skin with his tongue and loving the way she arched upward in response. Being completely naked in bed with Calley before dinner was an excellent way to start the evening and he tried to get as much of her skin against his skin as he could._

_In a surprise move, Calley shoved him off and onto his back, pulling herself onto his chest. "Oh, no you don't. You're not going to turn me into a puddle up under you until I get through with your pretty ass, Dean Winchester."_

"_You like saying that, don't you?" It was his turn to lay there helpless as she whispered "pretty ass" over and over into his ear and rubbed her perfect tits all over him. This was the kind of sex he wanted with Calley. Nasty and fun and later it would get hotter and crazier. _

_He was thinking of something to say and decided to keep his stupid mouth shut while Calley ran the tip of her tongue across his lips and down his neck. His fingers were trailing all over her back and running down to settle on her pretty ass that fit perfectly in his hand. Brain power for being witty disappeared when Calley rested her cheek against his stomach and looked up at him with those sky blue eyes that made him crazy. Rocking her head back, she stroked his hard on with her hair, smiling at him, knowing she was driving him nuts. _

_With a smooth motion, she got to her knees eased hot pink lips around his dick and he had to bite back the very uncool gasp that bubbled up in his throat. He was drowning in the heat of her lush mouth holding him in and when she scraped those even white teeth against his shaft he nearly came undone. For an instant he thought this would be the perfect last moment of any guy's life. Crazy hot girl willing to hold you in her mouth until you lost your freakin' mind. _

_And he really was losing his mind. Every rational thought was draining out of his head and into her mouth with each stroke and pull. She started digging her tongue against each vein on his cock and moving him in and out of her mouth and he grabbed the sheets in his fist to keep from letting go. _

"_Baby," he gasped out, reluctantly, "you better stop or this...is going to be…over way way way too soon."_

_Just to torture him, Calley pulled him out slowly, keeping up the pressure until he was sure his eyes were rolling back in their sockets. In his temporary blindness, all he could do was feel her climbing up his body and he rolled over to get her under him. _

"_Now it's time for your pretty ass," he whispered into her ear, sliding his fingertips over her body. The sassy control she'd shown before dripped away as he touched her and she melted underneath him, a satisfied hum vibrating in her throat. _

"_Please," she whispered when he hovered over her mouth. _

_Dean kissed her lightly and said, "Please what?"_

"_Please do anything you want."_

_This time the kissing was deeper and stronger and she pushed her tongue into his mouth and they tangled until he had to break the kiss to breathe. He was hungry for every taste of her and licked and sucked his way down to rub his face against one spiked nipple. _

_It was Calley's turn to come undone, bucking and wriggling in rhythm as he rubbed her with his tongue. That got to her every single time and Dean smiled against her sweet spot in his mouth. _

_Sharp nails scraped against his back, digging harder and harder as she came more alive under him. This was the place he craved to be. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him and desperate to have his touch. It didn't matter who he was or what he'd done; right here, his imperfections and sins didn't matter. _

_Calley was spread out under him, arching and wet and he stroked her until she was a weak, begging mess. His cock was a board that was about to break in two unless he got inside her. Fumbling beside the bed, Dean stretched out over her and struggled to open the drawer to get his hands on the protection he needed, only to have Calley gasp and tangle her hand in his fingers._

"_Wait…don't…"_

_He had pressed down too hard on her and he was afraid he had hurt her. When he was on top of her he felt too rough, too big, definitely too old for her, too everything._

"_Did I hurt you, Baby?" he asked, pushing off of her._

"_No," she moaned, pulling him back down closer and still holding his hand. "It's just..."_

"_Just what?" He leaned down until their mouths were almost touching again._

"_Don't get anything out of the drawer."_

_That one he had to think about for a second until his sex strangled brain made sense of it. "Do you mean what I think you mean?" _

"_I think that little girl in the painting wants to be born, Dean. Can we make her? Tonight?" She kissed him softly and quickly, still shaking._

_Leaps of faith often happened in the most unusual of places and Dean flung himself off his personal cliff. "Definitely," he said against her lips, feeling the smile that curled under his mouth. It wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed his mind before and if she was ready, he'd get ready._

"_Are you sure?" she said, all the while, pulling him closer with her legs wrapped around his waist. _

_Inching his way inside her, he stayed close to her ear. "The beautiful woman who loves me wants to have my baby?" The groan was involuntary as he pushed deeper and deeper. "I'm so there."_

_The slow and easy soon gave way to frantic thrusting together as she met his pace, crushing him over and over inside her until he didn't care about looking cool or sexy anymore. She was gasping and screaming for him to fuck her harder when her insides let go into waves of spasms and then she was whimpering and calling him God. He grunted and clinched his teeth like that would keep him from losing his sanity when the orgasm drained his brain and strength and left him a sweaty chunk of body on top of Calley. Big, badass hunter Dean Winchester was reduced to a shaking pile of man, babbling sloppy versions of "I love you" over and over into his woman's ear. It was true and saying didn't scare him like it used to because it was the truth. _

_When he could see again, he knew he'd done his job. Calley's face was pink and damp and tears were dribbling from the corners of her eyes. When she came, she lost every emotional control and tears were the giveaway. _

"_God, I love you," she said, catching her breath in a half sob, "I knew when I saw you, you were the one I needed. The perfect one."_

_The perfect one. He liked being called the perfect one. He'd heard her say that to him before, long ago, he just couldn't quite remember when. He kissed the corners of her eyes and said, "Sure it wasn't just my pretty ass?" _

"_Well, there's that," Calley groaned back to him. She reached up to stroke his face and said, " I hope we made our baby right this second."_

"_So do I."_

"_Wait! Stop!" _

_He was trying to slide out from inside her and she tightened her legs around him. "Uh, Baby, I'm more than willing to keep trying," he said, kissing her again, "but it's gonna take me just a minute or two."_

"_Keep trying," Calley said, laughing softly and relaxing her vice-like grip around his hips. "I like the sound of that. Keep trying, Baby."_

"_You've got to keep trying, Calley!" _

_The doctor's voice was less encouraging than it had been for the past two hours that Calley had been pushing. Now, it was more like an order, an anxious order._

_She was soaked with sweat and Dean's arm under her shoulders was the only thing holding her up. When this pushing crap had started, she was red faced and determined. Now, her color was some weak, pale gray and there was only pain and fear dripping out of her every pore. _

"_Calley, listen to me. You've got to keep trying. Don't quit on me now, Baby." He grabbed a towel and wiped her face. He shoved her wet hair back from her face and held his hand there so she could feel him. Her eyes were closed and it was hard to tell the difference between the tears and sweat on her cheeks. _

"_I can't do this. It hurts too much."_

"_Calley," the doctor called up from his weird catcher's stance between the stirrups, "I think if you can give me one more strong push we can get this baby out and we need to get this baby out now. Understand?"_

"_Can't we just hit pause and start over tomorrow? I'll do better tomorrow," she turned toward Dean, a confused and terrified expression on her face, begging him to save her. "Tell them I can't go any more. Please? Tell them."_

_Those eyes had lost touch with what was really happening here and they were scaring him to death. They were desperate and defeated. "Calley," he made his voice strong and his grip on her even tighter, "you have to do this once more. You can do this and get this baby here. Give it one more try and it'll be over. Remember your painting? She'll be here and the pain will be over."_

_Calley's whole body arched with the strain of pushing and he held her up, amazed at what she was doing. He'd always loved women, ever since he was a boy and discovered legs and tits but now he admired them, especially this one. Men couldn't do this. Men couldn't make a human being and shove it out. _

_She was screaming with what little energy she had left and all at once a whole, live baby spilled out of her body into the doctor's hands. Calley crumbled back against his chest, gasping for air. _

"_It's a girl," a nurse said, giving Dean the thumbs up sign and they hovered over the baby. _

"_Is she okay? Go see!" Calley practically shoved Dean off of her toward the end of the table. _

_As if on cue, the baby girl started screaming bloody murder, kicking her feet and flailing her arms as they evaluated her under bright lights. Dean hovered over them, wanting to get close, wanting to stay out of the way, wanting to see his daughter and wanting someone to say—_

"_Looks great. A normal, healthy baby girl, Dad," the nurse said, trying to clean up the wiggling, furious infant._

"_Dean?!" Calley was getting her strength back in a hurry and demanding answers._

"_She's perfect and pissed," he called back as they put the squirming little girl in his arms. The pink blanket couldn't hold her and her arms shot out, shaking and letting him know she wanted answers, too. "That's right, kid. Let everybody know you're here," he said as she wailed in his hands. He knew there was a big stupid smile on his face and he couldn't help it. She was tinier than he imagined a baby would be, barely filling up his hands, but she damn sure filled up the space she was in with noise and wiggle._

_Dean held the baby's little forehead close to Calley so she could kiss her and whisper mother things to her and then he leaned over Calley to tell her that she was the mightiest pretty ass he'd ever met. He kissed her and didn't talk again because he was afraid he was going to cry if he did and Baby Girl was crying enough for all of them._

"_Go introduce Emily to Sam," Calley whispered and lay back against the pillow exhausted. Emily Claire. They'd talked about naming the baby that if it was a girl and it was. She was. Emily Claire Winchester sounded light and happy, except for the Winchester at the end, but he'd make sure that "Winchester" part didn't touch her life and she'd be a normal, happy baby girl. He'd keep it all separate and she'd never have to be touched by anything evil, ever. If he could stave off the fucking apocalypse, he could damn sure keep one kid and one woman safe._

_Sam. He had to show Sam. The baby settled down as he left the delivery room and walked down the hall to where Sam was pacing back and forth. She looked up at Dean with deep brown eyes. John Winchester's eye. Dad's eyes in Emily's little face. What a hoot. _

"_Sammy! Look!"_

_Sam got all choked up, like Sam always did, and put his big hand on Emily's head as if he was trying to protect her from something. Little brother's long arms circled around them both and he acted like he wanted to confess something but he didn't. "You deserve this, Dean. You really do," Sam said with big Sam-like tears sliding down his face._

_A nurse suddenly showed up at Dean's elbow to take the baby to the nursery. "Just for a while, Dad," she said, smiling broadly. "Go back to Calley. She needs you now." Her look got more serious, darker, and she said it again. "She needs your help. Go."_

_Sam looked at him, his face still wet and worried. "You need to go now, Dean. Run."_

_The hallway got longer and longer as he ran. It was different than before. Not the bright, happy maternity ward colors. The lights were getting dimmer and the air took on a dry, stifling taste. Dean saw the door to the labor and delivery room and it had changed. It didn't swing easily back and forth. Made of solid metal, a huge silver knob held it shut._

_Calley's scream cut through the air, echoing around him and he jerked at the doorknob, trying to get to her._

"_Calley!!" He screamed back to her, struggling with the door. His only answer was another long, agonizing wail from the other side of the door._

"_I'm coming! What's going on?!" Dean kicked hard against the door with his boot and it didn't budge. His shoulder didn't make any more headway and he slammed against the door over and over as Calley's voice grew more and more horrific._

"_Please…help me, Dean…hurting me!"_

_He felt his shoulder crunch apart as he pounded into the door in a futile gesture._

_Light began to blast through a window that wasn't there before and he ran to it, pounding his fist against the glass. His knees buckled at the scene on the other side of barrier. Calley was naked and tied to a wooden rack. Not a rack. The rack. The rack Dean had lain on in Hell and laid others on to shred them to pieces. Her hands were tied over her head and there were several men hunched around her as she struggled and begged. One bastard was on top of her and when she screamed he slapped her hard against her cheek. Blood ran from her nose and mouth and she was losing the strength to scream. _

"_Get the fuck away from her! You're all dead!"_

_Dean saw a chair and flung it into the glass, only to have it bounce back and clatter to the floor._

"_SAM! Come help me!" He screamed behind him in the darkness, slamming the useless chair against the glass once again. "YOU BASTARDS ARE ALL DEAD!"_

_They were circling her like a pack of wolves waiting to feed on a wounded animal. They pawed and scratched at her, leaving her bruised and marked. One of the men had a knife and pricked tiny holes in her thigh letting single drops of blood ooze out over her skin. They took turns with her, high fiving each other and grinning through the window at Dean as he tried again and again to break the glass. He felt the gun stuffed in his belt and grabbed it from his back. Over and over he squeezed the trigger, sending round after round into the glass only to have them ping back across the room and ricochet around his head. He pumped another round into the door lock and it bounced away harmlessly to the floor. _

_He was helpless and impotent there on the outside watching Calley be torn to pieces. _

"_Please stop…Dean…don't hurt me..."_

_Another man had climbed on top of her and wrapped rough hands around her waist before he started slamming into her tiny body. Calley was begging and whimpering, but the son of a bitch just kept pounding into her. He saw the ring. The amulet swinging against her face, the sharp edge of a horn piercing her cheek. _

_His stomach began to boil up into his mouth when the man turned to face the glass and he looked into his own eyes._

"YOU BASTARD!"

Dean's body shook against the mattress and he gulped air like he hadn't sucked in breath in hours. He clinched his fists into the sheets, trying to ground himself in what was real. The bed. The room in the Roadhouse. The silence that was true and not part of the nightmare.

"Jesus," he whispered, closing his eyes again. He was drenched in sweat and now the air conditioning sent a shiver across his flesh.

A nightmare. He'd tried to bend the ugly truth into a pretty fantasy and even his own brain wouldn't allow it. The truth was the truth and it was going to stay that way. No nighttime sex dream with some invented version of Calley was going to change what happened or how his daughter came to be. No pretending or revenge was going to make it different.

He wiped his hand over his eyes, trying to force back the headache that was pounding against his skull. The truth had a way of sprouting up no matter how hard you pretended that it didn't exit and he felt a nauseous pang at the thought of Emily ever knowing the truth. He didn't even want to know it.

A cool hand against his shoulder jolted him sideways and he jerked his body violently.

"Emily?"

She was standing beside the bed, touching his sweaty skin with one hand while those big brown eyes were pinned to him. He felt filthy with her innocence right beside the thoughts and images fixed inside his brain, like she could see them and know the horrible things he'd done. He wanted to peel it off and burn it so she could never know.

Pulling himself together, Dean reached out to stroke her cheek. "Are you okay, Cutie Pie? Did you have a bad dream?"

She shook her head back and forth, worry wrinkling her forehead in the dim light from the window.

Dean tried to get his breathing down to a less asthmatic beat. "I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry. Daddy just had a bad dream, too." Offering her a weak smile, he added, "We're quite a pair, huh, Cutie?"

She had to get up on tiptoes, but Emily leaned onto the bed and kissed the melted hand on his shoulder as if to say she understood. That was their connection. One of common pain and fear.

He was touched by her compassion and planted a kiss on her head before she moved away. "I'm okay, Emily. Why don't you go back to bed?"

It was quickly clear that she didn't want to leave and she stood still at the edge of the bed, looking at him and waiting for another option. When it didn't come, she turned slowly and padded away toward the open door. She seemed so small when she paused in the doorway and looked back.

Dean wanted to tell her to come back and crawl into his bed and go to sleep. That he'd keep the dreams away and she could stay there as long as she wanted. But that wasn't going to help her move forward or get stronger. It would be more for him than for her.

"You don't have to be scared, Emily. The door's open and if you need me, I'm right here," he said, giving her a warm smile and a thumbs up while he tried to make himself strong enough to take it.

Emily gave him a sleepy, half-smile in return and ventured out across the hallway.

Exhausted, Dean fell back into the bed and forced his eyes shut. He was sorry the first part of the dream wasn't real. Calley deserved that much, not what she got. All he could do was try to make Emily's life more beautiful than her conception had been. If Sam could get enough information to wreck whatever train was heading their way, Dean could do that.

Dean tried to put it away and get back to dreams that didn't end in blood and screaming, if that was possible.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Firefly – Chapter 18

By: Suz Mc

Sam couldn't decide what he would do first in Lindsey's apartment, toss the place or pee. He'd gone through all of his coffee and a couple of Jolts to stay sharp in case the woman made a move in the middle of the night. The sun was coming up, bright and hot, making the Texas heat spike upward early. The sweat was making him long to get into that house and run up Lindsey's electric bill with the AC.

Finally, at 6:45, Lindsey burst out of her front door. She was weighed down with an oversized purse and briefcase as she headed for the car in her driveway. Before getting completely away from the safety of her house, Lindsey paused and scanned the area around her vehicle then proceeded to get into her car and drive away. When she turned the corner, Sam made his move, carefully picking his way around the edge of the shrubbery to avoid the eyes of nosey neighbors. Her alarm system was elementary at best; Sam could have disabled it when he was ten.

Alarm silenced and lock picks in hand, he attacked the backdoor so he'd be out of sight from the street. A wooden "Welcome" sign rattled with every push of his tools so he reached up to move it and found one perfectly painted protective symbol guarding Lindsey's door. Unless Lindsey had hidden artistic talent, Calley had put it there. It shed a whole new light on their relationship. Calley was trying to protect Lindsey.

Sam was inside the small house in seconds giving him enough time to get to the bottom of Lindsey's guilt or innocence. It was ice cold in the house and it felt crazy good compared to the stifling heat of Ellen's car. Sam took care of personal business in Lindsey's bathroom then set about searching the place. Working front to back, Sam began with the living room and moved backward.

Partway through he realized he'd forgotten to call Dean and snapped open his phone.

"Are you in?" Dean barked into the phone, dispensing with the normal "Hey, Sammy." He sounded like he'd been awake for a while.

Sam opened a few drawers on Lindsey's desk and said, "Yeah, just got inside and I'm looking. There's a protective symbol on her door. Looks like Calley painted it."

"Calley was protecting that bitch?" Dean had stopped referring to Lindsey by her name. She was now only known as "that bitch."

"Looks like," Sam said, looking under the desk. "God, this girl must be really hot natured. It's cold as hell in here."

"Hell's not cold, Sammy. Oh, I almost forgot," Dean said. "Bobby said to tell you this book generates heat. Look for a hot spot."

"Generates heat?"

"Made in Hell, ya' know?"

"Okay." Sam finished inspecting the desk and the few scripts and bills that were on it. "I'll call you back if I find anything." He didn't wait for Dean to respond, just folded the phone closed and went to work.

Hot spot. He did a quick walk through the house trying to sense a contrast to the freezing cold of Lindsey's fifty-five degree setting on her air conditioning. In the bedroom he didn't find anything demon related, but there were two packed suitcases neatly stacked at the end of the bed.

"We're taking a trip, huh, Lindsey?" Sam asked aloud and zippered the bags open for a good inspection. They were clean except for some freaky underpants and he closed them back up. There was nothing under her bed or in the bathroom, so Sam set about searching through Lindsey's closet and box after box of scripts, lesson plans, policy manuals from different universities all over Texas, and miscellaneous crap. It took forever and netted him zilch.

Disappointed, Sam went to the kitchen and stood in the cold to survey the sparse kitchen. There were no hot spots in this freaking deep freeze. Lindsey Deaton evidently was not of the Rachel Ray school and didn't spend much time cooking. There were only a handful of pots in the cabinets and the refrigerator held only water and salad. Maybe she'd emptied it before her trip. Sam sank down at the table, contemplating ripping up the carpet when his eyes settled on the oven.

The oven. A nice home for something hot. It only took him a couple of steps to get to the bright white appliance in the small room. He jerked open the door and was immediately slapped by something akin to the stifling Texas heat he'd lain in all night long. A cracked, leather bound book rested on the center rack of the oven and Sam pulled it free. The muscles in his arms strained carrying the book back to Lindsey's living room, the heat strong against his palms but not unbearable. He let it drop to the coffee table with a thud. Sam took a quick look through the window and then went to work analyzing the text.

It looked evil, with its burnished brown cover mottled with ancient lettering and markings. Page after weathered page crunched with age as he turned them, and he recognized nothing that made sense to him.

"Skip to the ending, Sam," he whispered to nobody and grabbed pages further back to open another section. Inserted between the final pages were sheets of parchment that appeared to be of another century than the ancient originals. Those added pages were a Latin translation of the unknown tongue used for Amora's collection of regulations.

Latin he could work with. The book in its original form wouldn't help him much, but the Latin he could read and understand with a little time and the help of a few programs on his laptop. Sam pulled the pages free, taking care to keep them in order and intact. He went back to flipping through the book. A rendition of the symbol in the 2002 basement photo caught his eye and he knew this book had been at the scene of that basement nightmare.

A key turning in the lock jerked his attention away from the book. Sam quickly folded the translated pages and stuffed them in the back of his waistband under his shirt. Lindsey burst through the door, dropped her purse on a chair and headed toward the bedroom.

"Forget something?" Sam said, stopping the woman dead in her tracks.

Lindsey skidded to a stop and spun around in shock. Fear and recognition dawned on her face at once. "What the hell are you doing in my house?!" she shouted, trying to portray a sense of righteous indignation. "Even Texas Rangers need a warrant."

Her eyes dropped to the table and her precious contraband and then to Sam's dramatically different appearance.

"I think you've figured out by now I'm no Texas Ranger, just like I've figured out that you're a liar, Lindsey," Sam said, leaning forward in his chair. "If you run, I'll catch you in about two strides. So if you want to get through this in one piece, you'll get your ass over here, sit down, and start telling me the truth."

"Who are you? What do you want?" Lindsey was a trembling mass of fear. White and shaking, she stared at Sam like a deer in headlights. "Just take what you want and go." She began to back away and Sam stopped her with a pointed finger.

"I am not playing with you, Lindsey," he said, keeping his voice low and threatening. If there's one scare tactic he'd learned from his brother is yelling isn't nearly as frightening as a tone your victim had to strain to hear. "You can keep this civil by getting over here, sitting down in this chair, and talking or I'm coming over to get you. If I do, you won't like it when I get there."

Slowly, Lindsey advanced, taking baby steps to cross the floor. "Please tell me who you are? I don't know what it is you think I've done, but you're wrong." Tears were running down her face and the closer she got to Sam, the more she shook.

"I'm Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester is my brother."

Lindsey processed the information and began to gush in response. "Emily's dad is your brother? Then you know I took Emily to find him." She walked a little faster, her words speeding up with her travel. "Is she okay? I told the firemen to find her. Go ask them! Calley was my friend and I was trying to help her because she was so confused and scared. Really, why are you here? I told you everything when you were here before."

She was almost at the chair and Sam rose from his to tower over her. Fear made you talk fast and frantic and that was where Lindsey was at this moment.

"Sit and explain this book to me," Sam said, pointing toward the hellish volume that ruined Calley's life.

"It was Calley's!" she shouted, moving closer to the chair. "She told me to keep it. I don't know what it is. Take it!"

"Sit, Lindsey, before I decide to tie you up and deliver you to my brother." Sam grabbed a handful of her shoulder and shoved her down into the chair.

"Please, don't hurt me, Sam. I don't know what Calley was into," she said, grabbing his hand for sympathy. "I helped Emily, remember? Doesn't that count for something?"

Lindsey was begging, holding onto his hand with both of hers, sobbing harder with every word. As she leaned forward, the neck of her blouse gaped open and a flash of silver caught Sam's eye. Lindsey screamed as Sam surged forward and grabbed at her throat. She shrunk away from him, pressing down into the cushion as he ripped the charm from around her throat with a rough snap.

The silver circle gleamed in his fingers. It was the charm Calley had bled into so she could protect Emily, the one item that had stood between a little girl and a demon.

"You're a lying bitch, Lindsey," Sam spat at her as she cowered against the cushions. "We know you took this from Emily. Why?!"

"Calley gave it to me! I swear!" Lindsey wept, looking like a pathetic, red-eyed mess.

He took a step back and put the charm into his pocket. What he wanted to do was gag her, tie her up, and turn her over to Dean, but there wasn't time for that long drive. He needed answers to his questions now.

"We know you took it, Lindsey," Sam said, trying to keep his anger under control. "Why?!"

Lindsey doubled over, collapsing against her knees, sobbing louder and more hysterically. Her face was resting on her lap and she was mumbling incoherently.

"What did you do to Emily on the way to Nebraska?! Tell me, dammit!" Sam advanced and stopped dead cold when Lindsey rose from her puddle with a gun pulled from inside the very Texas boots she wore under her jeans.

"I told the little brat if she said one word I'd bring that monster back to burn her eyes out and bar-b-que her new daddy." Lindsey's expression was cold and calm and she wiped the fake tears from her face with her free hand. "Made sure to keep her awake the whole time and squeezed that burned arm every so often so she'd get it through her stupid little head that I meant business," Lindsey said, a strange ring of pride at her accomplishment of destroying a four-year-old permeated her words.

She pointed the barrel at Sam's chest and grinned widely. "Now who's the bitch, Bitch?" she asked, rising from her chair as Sam took a couple of careful steps backward.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Firefly - Chapter 19

By: Suz Mc

"I hope you're not going to be too fucking big for my trunk," Lindsey said, pacing across the room but keeping her eyes focused on her prisoner.

"Excuse me?" Sam was being careful to watch for any sign that Lindsey was about to lose it and put a hole in his chest with that .38 she kept brandishing in his direction.

"You're certainly too heavy for me to drag out of here in one piece and I'll never be able to pick you up and load you as dead weight."

"Sorry 'bout that."

Lindsey stopped, pointing the gun squarely at Sam as he sat in the chair before her. "I know! I'll just walk you out to the trunk, you can get in, and I'll shoot you there! Brilliant!"

"You're quite the evil genius, Lindsey," he said, finding it amusing at how true that was. Extended monologues were the downfall of many a better villain than this girl. "How do you plan to explain busting a cap into a stranger to your neighbors?" Sam asked, watching Lindsey silently puzzle her way through all of her options for killing him and getting away. She had the upper hand, momentarily, and felt pretty confident. This might be the perfect time to get her talking. "So much for being bonded by tragedy, huh, Lindsey?"

"What the hell are you babbling about, Fake Ranger?"

"You and Calley in that explosion when you were kids, remember? All that gushing you did yesterday about watching your friends being blown up, did you bring that demon out to kill them?" Sam saw a brittle hatred settle over the woman's features.

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HER, BUT THE BITCH LIED TO ME!" Lindsey screamed across the room, the calculated sobriety left her voice and an unbalanced fury took its place. Sucking in a calming breath, she tried to get hold of herself. "Those bitchy cheerleaders had that book and thought it was some witchcraft bullshit they could use to get the college boyfriends they wanted and an assortment of other stupid crap but they couldn't read Latin!"

"And you could."

"Damn straight I could," Lindsey said, holding her head high with pride. "No dates equals lots of study time." After a quick straightening of her hair with her free hand, she continued, "They came to me and said if I'd help them get what they wanted, I could be part of it, too, so I said yes." Lindsey pulled up a chair, dramatically seating herself as if delivering a reading to an audience. "But once I got through the translations, I realized there was more to it than just spells. If we could summon Amora and provide her with a host that met all those pesky regulations, she could grant us everything we wanted."

"What did you want, Lindsey? What was it that made you deal with a demon?" Lindsey was a walking, talking illustration of what dealing with demons got you – screwed and on your way to Hell.

"To be Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock, Nicole Kidman," she smiled saying the names of her idols, "and it could have happened if Calley hadn't lied to me."

"She was there with you, right? Did she know?"

"Hell, no! That delicate little flower?" Lindsey obviously didn't care to keep up the pretense of ever having cared for Calley Rail. "What a sap. I told her those girls were having a sleepover and a séance for fun and it was my chance to be part of the popular crowd but I was too nervous to go alone. Of course, she didn't want any part of the witchy stuff but I told her it was just playing around and I needed her so she was there."

"You thought she would be Amora's host," Sam said, disgusted that someone would sell out another human being to a demon; not surprised, but still disgusted.

"Dead mother. Never having given birth. She was always so scared of needles she'd never get a tattoo or piercings. She met them all but one." Lindsey's expression went dark. "She told me she'd been laid but she LIED!" Lindsey was on her feet again, anger making her move. "A fucking virgin. Poor pitiful Calley, living in a fucking mansion with those mean relatives and not even laid. We sat her on the circle so Amora would know clueless Calley was the one but when we summoned her, the whole room blew up."

"Because you're supposed to do that sort of thing outside when the demon is that powerful."

"Thank you, Mr. Demon Expert, Sir," Lindsey said, sarcasm twisting her face. "Anyway, Calley and those other two were laid out under the rubble and I crawled out trying to get away. Amora was plenty pissed that she couldn't get into Calley because, well, she was a stupid virgin so she found another host."

Sam began to get the picture fairly quickly. "She possessed you, didn't she?"

For a brief moment, Lindsey looked wounded. Not at all the crazed, sadistic witch who was willing to sacrifice another human being for her own gain. "I'm adopted. I didn't realize my bio-mom was dead and it seems Amora is a stickler for those details. She jammed herself down my throat and took me on a joyride to Nevada for a few weeks."

"The devil is in the details."

Sam's smartass remark hardened Lindsey again and she walked a bit closer. "Damn straight. That monster wasn't going to give us anything. All she wanted was to turn me over to every dirty bastard who would put his dick in me. Calley, on the other hand, got shipped off to the nuns to recover and paint and live happily ever after, while I went through hell." Lindsey walked away toward the window, clearly feeling and tasting her nightmare vacation of being ridden by a demon.

"That must have been horrible for a teenage girl, Lindsey," Sam said, forcing a compassionate hum to his voice and getting ready to make a move.

"It was brutal and sickening." She was fully immersed in the memory and a tear ran down the side of her face.

Sam rose carefully, trying to avoid and telltale creaks or pops to his joints from a night spent folded up in a Honda. "But you survived it, Lindsey. You were stronger than she was."

"Still am."

He stepped forward, almost close enough to reach out and take her in hand. He stretched out his arm.

"Sit the fuck down!!!" Lindsey spun around, cracking through the shell of memories and cocking the handgun.

Sam raised his hands into the air and backed away. "You don't want to do this, Lindsey. I can help you."

"You're not gonna help me do shit. All you're interested in is that doomed little girl," Lindsey yelled, backing Sam into his chair but staying just out of reach.

"Okay, okay. I'm sitting," Sam said, complying with her gun-punctuated directions. "If you're gonna put a hole in me and drive me around in your car, the least you can do is tell me why. What does Amora want with Emily?"

"The same thing she wanted with my baby," Lindsey said, nervously twisting a loose piece of brown hair at her neck.

"You have a kid, Lindsey?" If she did, it wasn't in this house and Sam felt a few added alarms going off in his brain.

"I was going to until I had it sucked out of me." She didn't make the mistake of looking away this time but bore her eyes right into him. "When her time was up, Amora came out of me and left, but I was pregnant and there was no way I was having some demon spawn kid. My parents were more than happy to get me an abortion because they thought I'd just lost my mind and slept with a bunch of guys after I'd run away from home."

Lindsey sat down in the chair once again. Her face was pale and far more lined than that of a normal twenty-six year old woman. This was more than likely the only time she'd told her story and it was bubbling out like shaken soda with the top popped off. Temporarily, her focus was off shooting Sam, which he liked immensely, so he wanted to keep that situation intact.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I was free of that monster and some biker's baby and everything was going to be fine," she said, "until the bitch's followers showed up in 2007 looking for what Amora called her 'perfect creation', only to find out I'd killed it. She sent them because she hadn't yet found a host and they were about to kill me when I offered them a new solution."

"You sent her to Calley."

Lindsey looked at him, tears still in her eyes but that original hardness returned. Years of justifying and reordering reality to make her choices valid had long since colored Lindsey's perception of justice. "Damn right! She still fit the profile. Mother still dead. No baby. I was willing to bet she hadn't gotten pierced or tattooed and I was pretty damn sure she'd been laid by then. I also knew with Calley's 'sanctity of life' stance and if Amora got her knocked up, she'd keep it. It was a win-win for me and got me off the hook."

"What gives you the right to do that to Calley? To my brother? To Emily, for Christ sake?!"

"Survival, that's what!" she screamed at Sam. "Don't you judge me! Don't you dare judge me! I did what I had to do to stay alive, but once again, Calley screwed it up for me. Those stupid symbols! Amora showed up to collect her little hell baby and Calley had that damn necklace on her and those things painted on her door and she couldn't get the fuck in!"

"So you helped," Sam said, feeling the depth of Lindsey's selfish desire for survival over everything else. Dean was right. Demons were easy to understand. They were evil, period. Human beings and what they were capable of was full on crazy.

"It was so easy, Sam," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice to a whisper. "I'm an excellent performer. Told Calley that horrible monster that hurt her was after both of us." Lindsey's entire body language changed. Her eyes became pleading and soft, her voice, a wavering shaky squeak. "Please help me, Calley. I'm so sorry I dragged us into this all those years ago. What are we going to do?" Then she reverted back to self-serving Lindsey Deaton. "God, what an old softy, that Calley. She wasn't suspicious one bit. She was scared shitless, but she wanted to save us all." She hesitated, as if waiting for applause then said, "I'm good."

"I wouldn't go thanking the Academy just yet."

Indignantly, she said, "Everybody's a critic. Anyway, Calley even painted that stupid symbol on my door, which did turn out to be helpful in the long run. She said Emily's father could help us and she started looking for him. All I had to do was show up the night she was leaving, yank that charm off of Emily while her mother was in the shower, scrape a hole in that symbol, and Amora walked right in."

"If Amora wants Emily so badly, why did she try to kill her?"

"Now, that's the million dollar question, Sam," Lindsey said, waving the gun in his direction. "I don't have a clue what happened. I was sitting down the street, waiting to take Amora and Emily to meet with her posse and the whole place just blew up. I guess Calley was trying to kill her and set her on fire, stupid bitch."

"Why did you save Emily?"

"I knew fire wouldn't kill Amora, and if I wanted to keep breathing, I'd better get that brat out of there. I sent in the firemen and hung around the hospital until I could snatch Emily and run." Lindsey was lost in her righteous justifications that made it easy for her to lie, betray, and torture to save her own hide. "I made sure she'd keep her little mouth shut and stashed her with her daddy. Before you so rudely screwed up my plans, I was on my way to snag her and step into my Amora-free future."

"If you think you have a future, you're wrong, Lindsey," Sam said, trying to reach some part of Lindsey that hadn't been tainted. "Demons lie. Demons kill people. When she gets what she wants, you're done. Help me protect Emily and my brother and I will get you out of this."

"Do I look like an idiot to you? All men care about is what they want and you want to save that kid, period!" She squared her stance and steadied the gun at Sam's chest. "Start walking. Back door."

"Why does Amora want Emily?"

"It's in the book, baby, but since you're not going to be here it's really not your problem." Lindsey waved the gun again. "Get moving or I pop you right here and worry about the mess later!"

He started backing toward the door. "Okay, I'm going. See?" There was a lot of real estate between the living room and the car and he was sure he could trip her up somewhere along the way. "Did Amora say she'd made Emily special, different?"

"She's a child of light and fire, just like my freak baby would have been. That's why she's perfect for the ceremony."

"What cere—"

The brittle sound of breaking glass echoed through the room. Both of them jerked toward the sound and Sam took his chance to break Lindsey's hold on her weapon. The woman screamed and shrank back toward the sofa.

Sam was so focused on grabbing the gun that he almost missed the object spinning on the floor in front of him. It was a round black ball similar to a grenade with bright lights flashing from several tiny holes circling the sphere. He and Dean had seen one of these last year -- a tazer grenade. Those lights would be flashing out in laser streams in about ten seconds and the second one beam hit you, you were immobilized.

There was no time to grab the book or Lindsey. Tazer grenades were precursors to invasions. Sam dove toward the back exit, feeling the red hot sting of a beam of light graze his arm as he made it to the exit. It wasn't enough to stop him but his arm went numb from the tips of his finger to his shoulder.

Keep moving. If he kept moving, maybe whatever invader was coming in wouldn't know to look for him. Lindsey was screaming at whoever had kicked in the front door when Sam made it to the back door. He could hear footsteps and her body being dragged away. The pain ripped up from his arm to his skull and he stumbled off the back porch of Lindsey's house, fighting to stay upright and get away from the house and into the shrubbery. Hiding was the best he could do, and Sam scrunched himself down behind a fence. Three people, two men and one woman, pulled Lindsey's limp body across the yard and dumped her into the backseat of a rental car. The hellish book was gripped under the woman's arm and she hauled it into the car with her, then slammed the door.

The pain in his arm made him dizzy and sick, and he closed his eyes to ride it out. The car carrying Lindsey and the book sped away down the quiet, deserted street. Lindsey was on her own and it didn't look like those people were embracing her as part of their sick demon-worshipping cult.

It took considerable time before the spots cleared from his vision and the movement came back to his injured arm. Using his good arm, Sam yanked himself upright to rest against the fence and made his way back to Ellen's car. The pages still jammed under his shirt crinkled against his sweaty skin and he pulled them out, dumping them on the seat beside him.

The fingers of his left hand were still numb so he dialed Dean's number one-handed.

"Dean." He didn't intend to sound so completely wasted but he couldn't quite divert enough strength from managing his pain to his voice.

"What's wrong? Are you okay, Sammy?"

"No. Tazed, but it's wearing off."

"Did Lindsey taze you?"

Sam leaned his head back against the seat and turned on the air conditioning to blast into his face.

"Sammy! Talk to me!"

He raised the phone back to his ear and said, "Sorry. I'm okay, but it hurts like a bitch." Sam took in another deep breath. "She didn't, but some of her friends tossed a tazer grenade through the window."

"Damn, I'd love to get my hands on one of those," Dean muttered, longingly. "Where's the bitch now?"

"Gone. Kidnapped by some of Amora's cult," Sam said, getting his senses more under control. "Listen, Dean, I don't know why yet, but they want Emily. You need to grab that little girl and get on the road. They may not know where she is this second, but they will soon and you don't have a lot of time."

"We'll be gone in thirty," Dean said, not questioning Sam's judgment. Sam could hear Dean's heavy footsteps over the phone. "Why does she want Emily? Did Lindsey tell you?"

"She said a lot and I'll give you the details later," Sam said, pulling the car onto the street and pointed it toward his motel. "They took the book but I swiped some Latin translations. Should get some answers there. All I know is they want Emily and they're coming. Get away from there, now."

"Where do you want to meet?" Dean had opened a door and was talking to Ellen on the side, telling her to get Emily's stuff ready to leave.

Sam was about to say the name of a town and stopped himself. "Don't say it out loud, Dean, but go to that town where we killed our first werewolf. Remember?"

"I know exactly where you're talking about. Same motel?"

"If it's there, yeah, if not, first one in the yellow pages," Sam said, stopping at a red light. "There's a major airport within a couple hour's drive from there. I'm catching a flight."

"What about Ellen's car?"

"We'll get it back to her later. I don't think we have time on our side, Dean."

"Okay, we'll go there and wait for you."

"Watch your back and be careful, Dean. These people aren't playing."

"You, too, Sammy. See you soon."

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Firefly – Chapter 20

By: Suz Mc

Ellen was quickly packing Emily's things and it had clearly upset the little girl. Dean took her hand and brought her into his room, sitting her up on the bed to talk.

"I've got a surprise for you, Emily. We're going on a road trip to meet up with your Uncle Sammy." Dean had tried to swallow the urgency he was feeling so Emily wouldn't be frightened and he wouldn't have to deal with running for their lives and a freaked out four year old. Emily was smart. She had picked up on the unspoken nervousness of both adults and hiding things from her was turning out to be more difficult than Dean had imagined. Her eyes were intense and worried and Dean pulled her up into his lap, trying to settle her. "When me and Sammy were little, we drove all over the place and saw lots of cool things. You and I are going to do that, too," he said, giving her a big smile. "It's going to be fun. Trust me."

It wasn't going to be fun. It was running and hiding, but he had to disguise it as fun. "Why don't you go help Ellen pack up your stuff and we'll get going."

Emily eyed him like she had flipped the switch on her own personal bullshit detector. Dean felt the sweat on the back of his neck. He knew he didn't have time for this and should just say, "Get moving," like his dad would have done when the three of them were doing a scoop and run from some crappy town and some evil monster. Dad never gave them time to trust him; he just demanded it.

"Ready?"

She hesitated for a second or two, the trust issues clearly being weighed in her mind, dark brown eyes full of questions. When her decision process was complete, she jumped down off the bed and headed for her room. Hours on the road were facing Dean and he wanted to be away from this place with a target spray painted on its side**. **He breathed a sigh of relief and began throwing his things into two zipped bags. He'd done this so many times he could pack in his sleep and often did. Order mattered more than anything when your life hinged on grabbing a sawed off full of salt or an automatic with consecrated iron rounds. He couldn't risk any mistakes and slowed down to make sure he wasn't sacrificing safety for speed.

Thirty minutes later, the Impala was packed and Dean and Emily were about to be on their way. Even though he wished they weren't being forced to run, getting back to the freedom of the blacktop didn't feel so bad. Having breathing room to get to know Emily, to get accustomed to fathering her, had been great, but it felt odd to be in one place doing nothing for so long. He knew one day soon he would have to reconcile that wander lust with his need to give Emily a home.

But right now, they needed to stay ahead of a demon.

Ellen knelt down in front of Emily and put a box into her small hands. "I knew that soon you and your Daddy would be going on a trip so I got you a present," she said, gently smoothing the little girl's hair. When Emily pulled the box open and peered inside, Ellen smiled widely. "It's your own DVD player with all your favorite movies." She pulled a pair of earphones from the box and showed Emily how to use them. "When you get bored or when Daddy and Uncle Sammy need to talk about grown up stuff, you can watch all the princesses."

The two hugged tightly and Dean watched as Ellen struggled to keep from letting her tears go. "I'm going to miss you, too, Sweetie. But you'll be back to see me."

Dean waited for Ellen to let go of his daughter and he loaded the child into his large backseat. She wasted no time flipping open her player and sliding a movie inside. After Dean closed the door, Ellen wrapped him in a warm embrace. "If you need anything, if you need a place to stay or anything else, all you have to do is call me. This is your home anytime and I'll help with anything this little girl needs. I mean it."

"I know."

"I don't want to know where you're going right now. I think it's better that way," she said quietly into his ear. "Be careful and let me know when you're all safe."

"I will," he said, breaking the embrace. "I can't thank you enough for what you did for us, for her."

"No need. We're family, Dean. The door's always open."

"Ellen, don't take any chances if those people show up looking for us."

She gave him a confident smile and pointed toward Jake, who was heading toward the car with a small canvas cooler. "Don't worry. Jake and I can handle ourselves," Ellen said, adding, "can't we, Jake?"

Jake gave a silent and solemn nod and walked around them both to open Emily's door. He put the cooler carefully on the seat beside her and said, "Peanut butter and jelly and the blue juice boxes you like. Be a good girl." For approximately half a second, a broad smile broke the lines of Jake's face and he winked at Emily. She winked back and nodded her head in agreement. When Jake pulled his head back from the car, his normal serious scowl was back in place.

"Thanks, Jake," Dean said as Jake passed by and grunted in response. He didn't expect an answer but he wanted to say the words just the same. Silent Emily seemed to truly enjoy Mostly Silent Jake's company.

Dean pulled open the heavy Impala door and slid behind the wheel. He and Emily were about to be solo. Shifting the car into gear, he put a hand on the seat and twisted around to watch the view out the back window as he backed up. For a second, he caught Emily's eye. She wasn't scared anymore about leaving and smiled happily back him. The overwhelming power of that trusting little smile rushed over him, heavy and deep in its intensity. It was completely wonderful and terrifying. Sammy looked at him like that when he was that size and hadn't yet started complaining about being called Sammy. Sammy had looked at him like he had all the answers, all the strength, all that was needed to get through the day whole. Knowing that someone trusts you completely when you don't even know if you can trust yourself is ego-boosting and gut jarring at the same time.

"Ready to roll, Cutie Pie?"

Emily gave him a thumbs up signal and they drove away.

***

Ariel Anderson had been more than happy to store Ellen's car in her garage and that lifted a great burden off of Sam's shoulders. It was one thing to borrow your friend's car, but another to leave it a couple thousand miles away parked at the airport. Ariel had even driven him to the airport, with the offer of free tickets back for a visit whenever they wanted to bring Emily to visit her hometown. She was going to handle Calley's finances and home and would get all the papers to them when they were ready.

Which was wonderful since at the moment, Calley Rail's estate was the last concern on the Winchester To Do List.

It had been a while since Sam had waited in an airport. With Dean's pathological fear of flying, it wasn't worth the tranqs and handholding it took to get his brother through even a short flight. Even trains were too much for Dean. Control issues were his brother's Achilles Heel. He wanted to feel the brakes, the tires, the hum of the engine, and know with one turn of the wheel or tap of the brakes, motion would change or stop. As the years went by, it bothered Sam less and less. Dean's quirks were no more or less crazy than his own.

He'd resisted the urge to call Dean on his cell. If these people had access to spy crap like tazer grenades, tracking and monitoring cellphone conversations wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Dean and Emily were probably well on their way to Cheyenne Wells by now and barring any flight delays, they might all reach the motel at the same time. Things would feel a great deal more manageable once Sam could put his eyes on the rest of his family and still the rumbling panic that was making his heart beat just a bit harder than normal.

Sam had a half hour before his flight would begin boarding and he was taking advantage of that time to wade through the twenty pages of Latin standing between him and knowing Amora's plan for Emily. He settled the pages on a seat to his left and gripped a pencil in his right to scribble down the words as he processed them. While he read and translated, he said a silent thank you to long dead Pastor Jim and the hours he spent teaching him true Latin and not that "farmers and their daughters" crap they taught in high school level Latin classes. "If you're going to exorcise with zeal, you should understand the words you're saying, Son," Jim Murphy had said, knowing that Sam was desperate for understanding, even then. Dean was content to memorize the sounds as long as that would be enough to send a demon to Hell and could care less what he was saying.

The first pages were basically a rehash of things they already knew about Amora, her crimes, and what her punishment had been. Sam was just beginning to get to the final acts required to free Amora from her regulatory bondage when his flight was called over the airport intercom. Quickly, he folded the pages and stuffed everything into his backpack and headed for the gate.

***

The sun was beginning to set when the three suits walked into Ellen's bar. Suits were rare in the Roadhouse and the temperature seemed to drop a bit as the incongruous group stalked their way into room. The two men were similar in build, tall lanky bodies and solemn faces. One had thick, dark red hair and a slightly contemptuous look to him as opposed to the softer look of his blonde partner. The woman with them was harsh, had her hair slicked back in a severe bun, and she clicked her black pumps across the floor as if that gave her more authority.

Ellen stayed still behind the bar, eyeing each one carefully as she plastered a pleasant expression on her face. "Hello. I'm Ellen Harvelle. What can I get you?"

"Ma'am, I'm Donna Talbot from the Texas Department of Child Welfare," the woman said, flashing a plastic case with an ID inside. "These are my associates, Mr. James and Mr. Larken, and we're here looking for a child who might be at risk." She sat a briefcase down on the bar and pulled some very official looking documents from inside then flopped them onto the bar in front of Ellen. "Do you know the whereabouts of a four year old named Emily Winchester?" Her manner was direct, but she was clearly going for the concerned social worker vibe.

Ellen gave the papers a cursory glance. "What makes you think she's in danger?"

"It seems she was illegally taken across state lines after her mother was killed," said Mr. James, the blonde man who spoke with a soft, quiet voice. "We have reason to believe she was taken from the hospital and delivered her to her father."

"If she's with her father, what's the big deal?" Ellen handed the papers back to the woman and folded her arms in front of her.

"We can't just allow children to be plucked from our state and handed over without due process, can we?" The red-haired Mr. Larken had a sarcastic bite to his voice. "We have to look out for the best interests of the child, Ms Harvelle. Investigations must be done and we will need custody of the child until we're certain she's safe."

"Yeah," Ellen responded, offering no other information. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly," said Ms. Talbot, returning her paperwork to her briefcase.

"Why didn't you go through the local authorities? The local sheriff is a friend of mine and I'm sure he would have come by if you had called him." Ellen picked up the phone. "Maybe we should just call him now."

"That won't be necessary, Ms. Harvelle," snapped the red-haired man. "If the child is here, we just need to see her and do a quick interview. Why don't you bring her and her father out to talk to us and we can settle this quickly?"

Jake put down the glass he'd been drying and made his way over to stand behind Ellen. She didn't turn to look at him, but he casually tapped the end of the shotgun he was holding against her calf so she'd know he had the backup if needed.

"Can't. They've been gone quite a while now." Ellen had reasoned quickly that saying Dean and Emily had never been there would be pointless. She couldn't point them in the wrong direction since the true direction was a complete secret, but she could at least throw them off in regard to time. "Left two days ago without even saying good-bye. I don't expect to hear from them."

Her answer clearly frustrated the man and he moved in closer to the bar with a rushing step. "If that child is here, you'd better produce her, now!" He slapped his hand on the bar.

Jake responded by slapping the barrel of his gun against the bar right in front of the angry Mr. Larken.

"My bartender gets nervous when strangers start threatening his boss," Ellen said, watching the aggression change to fear in all three strangers posing as public servants. "Anything happens to me, there's no one to sign the paychecks."

"Okay, let's all just calm down," Ms. Talbot said, taking a nervous step backward. "Do you realize how much trouble you'll be in if you don't tell us where that child is, Ms. Harvelle?"

"Do you realize how many holes will be in the three of you if Jake here pulls this trigger?" Ellen steeled her glare at them, communicating her commitment to that course of action. "I told you they're gone and you could stay here all day to verify that fact or you can get the hell out of my bar."

The three stood silent for a moment, offering each other quick glances and deciding their chances of out running Jake's shotgun weren't in their favor. The woman nodded at the other two and pulled out a business card. "Okay, Ms. Harvelle. No need to take this to felony level. We just want Emily to have the life she's meant to have. If you hear from them, call us." She slid the card carefully across the bar and they turned toward the door.

"Yeah, I'll do that. Right after you kiss my ass."

Ellen waited for the trio to drive away before picking up the phone and dialing. Calling Sam seemed the safer bet.

"Hey, Sam. They've already made it up here looking for Emily," she said worriedly into the phone. "No, we're okay but I thought you should know. Have you talked to them yet?" She listened as she watched Jake put away his shotgun for another day. "I don't see how they could find them now, but promise me you'll all be careful. Okay. Bye."

Ellen hung up the phone, hating how helpless she was to protect any of them now.

***

"Are we going to hang around this Nebraska shithole forever, Drake?" Lonnie grumbled over his sloppy diner fries.

Drake was more than annoyed and reached over to grab a handful of his partner's meal. The handheld GPS had been stowed away in the trunk while they hunted a pack of black dogs and by the time he'd checked it again, Winchester had been two hours away. There were still two of those bastards missing and if they were going to get paid, they had to deliver all ten corpses.

"Unless you've suddenly hit the lotto and don't need the ten grand that Hoodoo bitch is offering for an entire pack of black dog bodies, we got a couple more dead dogs to get our hands on, moron!" Drake snatched up the check a timid waitress had eased onto the corner of the table and flung it at Lonnie. "Pay the check. I'm hittin' the head."

He'd have loved to turn out onto the highway and catch Dean Winchester with his pants down, but black dog trails went cold fast and they had to get more supplies and get back to it. The man pounded his way to the back of the diner and reached for the men's room doorknob, only to find it locked.

"Shit!" He gave the door a quick pound and growled, "Hurry up in there." Drake leaned against the wall, fuming and twitchy. This Winchester crap had thrown off his entire game. It ate at him to let the ass whupping he'd taken from that boy go unanswered, but the way things were going, by the time they got the dogs, drove to the Gulf to unload then and got paid, catching up with that freak boy and his brother was going to take more trouble than it was worth.

He reached over and beat on the door again.

"We've got ten hours left, Donna. How the hell are we supposed to find them in time?" A red-haired, red-faced man in a cheap suit was blabbering in the booth beside Drake's back and he smiled a little at the thought that somebody may be having a shittier day than he was at the moment.

"Call your buddy and see if he's been able to pick up any activity from his cell," the woman said, nervously tapping her glass. "He's got that little girl with him and there's no way he can go completely underground and unnoticed."

The man leaned back disgustedly in his seat and shoved his uneaten lunch away from him. "I just called him fifteen minutes ago and he said he'd call ME if there was anything new. Winchester's no fool and we're screwed."

Drake felt an enormous silver lining open up and a hallelujah chorus burst into song overhead. Smoothing his hair and straightening his shirt, he approached the group at the booth. "Excuse me, sir, I don't normally stick my nose into other people's business, but you wouldn't happen to be looking for a Dean Winchester, would you?"

The woman practically lurched forward toward him and said, "Yes! Yes we are. Do you know him?"

"That depends, ma'am," Drake said, oozing greasy charm out onto the table top. "Just why are you fine people looking for him?"

The man on the other side of the booth jumped into the conversation. "We're from the Texas Department of Child Welfare. We think he is traveling with a child who could be in danger."

Drake pushed his way onto the seat beside the man, a look of deep concern on his face. "Thank the Lord you people are here to rescue that poor child. I've seen that little girl and she looked scared to death. That Dean Winchester is a violent, dangerous man." He pointed to his wounded neck and bruised face. "He did this to me just the other night for nothing more than looking at him in a local bar." He took the woman's hand in his. "I'd be glad to help you protect that little girl." With a wink, he added, "It takes a village, you know?"

A relieved smile spread across the woman's face and she patted Drake's hand in response. "It's wonderful to know there are men like you out there, sir, willing to protect children from dangerous predators like that Dean Winchester."

"Men like that need to get what's coming to them, ma'am," Drake said, rubbing a thumb over her hand. "You getting that little girl out of that maniac's clutches, well, that's the kind of thing that makes the world a better place."

"Just how can you find him? We're fighting the clock here, Mister..?"

"Drake. The name's Drake." He untangled his hand and stood beside the table. "Come out to my truck and I'll show you everything you need to put your hands on that helpless child."

The trio followed Drake and joined up with a puzzled, but silent, Lonnie. When they reached the parking lot, the red-haired suit stopped Drake and eyed him suspiciously. "You're sure you can point us toward Dean Winchester? We, I mean, that little girl can't afford any mistakes."

"Oh, this will take you right to them, Mister," Drake drawled his response and put his GPS tracker into the man's hand. "All I ask is that when you rescue that sweet, vulnerable child, you tell Dean Winchester who sent you in his direction."

The woman took control of Drake's machine, nodded and all three left in a bland rental car. Drake began to laugh uncontrollably and Lonnie smacked him on the shoulder. "What the fuck was that?!"

"That, my friend, was the sound of the worm turning." Drake smiled after the respectable people heading off to do his dirty work and said, "Let's go play dog catcher."

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Firefly – Chapter 21

By: Suz Mc

Sam's frustration was reaching Mt. St. Helen's level as he sat trapped in the plane, crammed against the window in the tiny coach class seat. The huge sweaty guy beside him could give Dean a run for his money when it came to flight anxiety. He was trying to be quiet about it, but the pinched tight eyelids, red face, and mumbling of the Lord's Prayer were a dead giveaway. At the moment, the guy didn't  
want to talk and was way too involved in his own crash-and-burn fantasies to pay much attention to Sam.

Things had been fine and running on schedule until they boarded and a raging thunderstorm had shut everything down. Now Sam was stuck here with this panicked loser beside him, watching the time tick by. Sam kept replaying the arguments for and against calling Dean. He wanted to let him know the bastards had shown up at Ellen's but the risk of triggering some cell tracking program was too great when it was likely that the bad guys had no clue where to go to find Dean and Emily in the first place. Sam had expected that, of course, but not this quickly. These people obviously had no problems with transportation.

Coach seats were not built for Sam Winchester bodies. Dean bodies, yes, but not his. The tingle in his legs was getting to ant bite stage so he shifted more toward the window and tried to find room to pull out his Latin pages and get more of the text translated into something useful. The dark work drew him in and it took a while before he felt his fellow passenger's interest over his shoulder. Sam turned slightly, just enough to throw an annoyed glance at the man and then go back to his work. In a few minutes time, the guy's breath was back on Sam's neck. Sam sketched a couple of pentagrams on his notebook and the guy quickly leaned back into his own seat and resumed his praying.

Sometimes, scaring civilians had its place in the grand scheme of things.

***  
Dean looked down at the seat where he'd tossed his phone. He knew it wouldn't be smart to use it unless there was no other option but that didn't stop him from wanting to track Sammy. Right now, there was no signal at all. Mountains totally screwed up cell reception so that settled his dilemma. Emily was snoozing in the backseat, mouth wide open, body held in place by her seatbelt. They'd fallen  
into a rhythmic routine over the long hours of driving. Dean would see her sucking down one of the blue juice boxes, enthralled by some princess, then thirty minutes later she'd be tapping her fingers on his shoulder to signal a bathroom break.

That was a problem in itself. At the first stop, he hadn't known what to do. He couldn't go into the ladies room with her without being hauled away by the cops and it didn't seem safe to send her in alone. Dean sure as hell couldn't drag a little girl into the men's room. He'd been saved at two stops by moms with kids offering to take Emily with them and at another stop by a hot waitress who shared  
the notion that a guy with a kid was pretty desirable. The last daddy's little helper had sent Emily back to Dean with freshly washed hands, straightened ponytail, and her phone number on a card under a lipstick kiss.

That demonstration had made quite an impression on Emily, who proceeded to kiss each of the coloring book pages she finished for the next hundred miles before she ripped them out and handed them over the front seat. A stack of pages with butterflies, princesses, mermaids, and lots of tiny flames had taken shape in the passenger seat. The little girl in the backseat was just trying to be sure he still understood what had happened and how it was still there inside her, even though she was fighting the fear with everything she had in her little kid arsenal. She couldn't speak but she certainly said a lot.

Emily was still snoozing when they pulled into Cheyenne Wells and the Blissful Valley Motor Court. Of course, it was now the Blissful Valley Motel and Resort. Evidently, a slightly green swimming pool qualified it as a resort. It was basically the same sixties era motel he remembered from the week he'd spent here with Sam and Dad as they tried to stop a rampaging werewolf from snacking on the locals. Dropping that monster in mid-leap was a rush he'd never forget. Being fifteen and wasting a werewolf was better than feeling up the head cheerleader, or at least it was equal on the teenage buzz scale. Dean told and retold that story to Sam, who'd almost been wolf chow until Dad popped the one who'd circled around them to the car. The story had been titled "Bloody Valley Massacre" and it got bloodier and more toothy every time he told it. The only problem with having that great story was that Dad and Sam were the only ones he could tell it to and not end up in the high school counselor's office.

The Impala slipped into a parking space close to the motel office and Dean eased Emily awake before they went inside to get a room. He signed the guestbook as "Wolf Blitzer" knowing Sam would roll his eyes and expect to be bombarded with the Bloody Valley Massacre tale once again. After moving the car, Wolf and Emily Blitzer walked down to their room at the end of the building and she carefully removed her things from the backseat and brought them inside. A hot pink suitcase, a stack of coloring books, a DVD player, and Cinderella Barbie. That was her world and Emily arranged it carefully on one of the beds in the weird room with a cloud motif.

"It's not so bad, is it?" Dean said, looking around the worn room. As Winchester accommodations went, this wasn't all that freaky, but what was fine for him and Sam to stagger back to after a bloody hunt just didn't seem good enough for a little girl. It would feel better, more acceptable, when Sam got there and he just wasn't sure why, but he knew it was so.

They were safe here for the time being. Nobody on the planet knew about this place or at least not their connection to it. Sam might as well have thrown a dart in a map to pick it. Dean knew they weren't followed because he wasn't a fool and knew a tail when he saw one. No reason to stay cooped up in the room when there was a perfectly good restaurant next door.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to check the clip in his gun, Dean held out his hand and said, "Let's go eat, kiddo." Her hand fit inside his and they left to wander down the sidewalk, Dean talking and Emily listening.

***

Chicken Little had maintained a white knuckled grip on the armrests since the plane took flight. Every sound, every motion seemed to inspire a gasp and it was going to drive Sam insane before they landed.

They were only a half hour away from the landing by the time he got to the last two pages and translated the words that stopped him cold. He thought he'd made a mistake. He hoped he'd made a mistake. He mumbled the Latin words to be sure of the sounds.

His hand was shaking as he wrote the words across the white notebook. Two pages of sickness and disaster that made a burned apartment seem like nothing. Two pages that summed up the reason Emily was conceived in such a violent and horrifying way. Two pages that explained the power he'd felt in her small hands. Two brutal, unmerciful pages that detailed a little girl's entire reason for existing. He should have known this was the endgame they were all speeding toward, the one thing Amora would need to earn her license to torture and unleash no peace on earth for anyone in her path.

Cell phone tracking didn't matter anymore so he dialed Dean's number.

"Uh, I don't think you're supposed to be using that right now." The frightened passenger was looking at Sam like he was about to bring the plane down in a nose dive.

"Mind your own business!" An irritating repetitive beep jabbed into his ear. No signal. He jerked the phone away from his ear and punched a text message. The stupid envelope icon flipped over and over then vaporized across the screen when the message couldn't be sent.

The approach went slowly and he popped his phone open over and over trying to get a signal. The stewardess stopped to gently suggest that Sam close his phone and wait to get inside the terminal because electronic devices weren't allowed at this point in the flight. Sam tried to use that stupid receiver plugged into the seat in front of him and his credit card wouldn't work because he'd maxed it out to buy the ticket.

"Shit!" he yelled, slamming it back in place and getting another frightened look from the guy to his right.

Sam had his bag in hand and was on his feet when the plane coasted to a stop at the gate and the stewardess gave the word to disembark. Manners and courtesy could be damned and he stepped over the guy in his way, shoving away anyone between him and the door. The phone was in his hand while Sam pounded his way through the endless tunnel leading to the terminal. When the screen changed from no bars to full signal, Sam frantically dialed Dean's number again and pounced on the "Hello" that rang in his ear

"Dean! Thank God! Listen, I know what's—"

"Psych! Leave a message."

"Son of a bitch!" Sam screamed at Dean's retarded voicemail greeting.

Breaking from the area in a run, he tried to keep believing that the mountains between Dean's phone and cell towers were killing the signal and sending his calls straight to voicemail. He slowed down to type a text message and send it before searching for the Avis booth. At least he'd had the forethought to pay for the rental car when he bought his ticket. There was a two hour drive between Sam and his family and he had to beat a monster to them.

*****

When the waitress offered Emily a booster seat so she could sit a little taller in the booth, her little face screwed up into a disgusted scowl that made her father laugh. Dean could imagine her saying, "I'm no baby." He could imagine that her little voice would sound squeaky and annoyed at the idea that she would even consider using something for toddlers, even if she needed it.

He was hoping any time now he wouldn't have to imagine it.

When the waitress returned, she was all smiles and making a big deal about how cute it was to see a daddy and daughter out for a date. "What would you like, sugar?" she said, leaning down with her pad in hand. Emily remained silent, looking at the woman with wide eyes. "Don't be scared of me, darlin'," the waitress whispered in an easy, maternal tone. Noticing Emily's arm, she added, " That must be a bad boo-boo to need such a big bandage." She reached out to pat the little girl on the head and she flinched.

"She's really shy," Dean said, offering an explanation.

"Okay," the woman responded and turned to him, tapping her pen against the paper.

"I want a double cheeseburger and fries and bring her the, uh," he paused, trying to figure out what she'd like and not like with zero information to go on.

"My little boy loves the mac and cheese and chicken fingers." She smiled at him like he was clueless and he was.

"How's that?" he asked, relieved to get a positive nod in response from Emily.

Dean checked his phone again and it still had no signal. If Sam was right about the length of the drive, he should be here any time now and the knot inside his stomach should unravel a bit. Things weren't going to feel right until they were all in the same spot dealing with the problem together.

The food came and Dean dug in, sure this was one of the top three biggest burgers of his lifetime. The place wasn't bad and the crowd was slim. He liked it that way because it made it easier to monitor everyone within reach of Emily. He could see into the kitchen and watch the one guy slinging hash. There were two waitresses and three other customers. Both doors were in his line of vision and there wasn't any loud music to interfere with his hearing.

All he had to worry about at the moment was this kid and her need to believe she was taller than she really was. Emily was stretching and straining to sit high enough to comfortably scoop up her food and her stubbornness was showing.

"Do you want the seat? I'll get it for you."

Her head shook back and forth in a hard jerk and she frowned deeply while she did it, the look and gesture clearly saying, "Hell no!"

Dean held up his hands. "Okay, do it your way, kid."

With great effort, Emily continued to reach and stretch to gobble up her lunch. By the time the waitress returned, she'd cleaned her plate and had a satisfied grin on her face.

"Wow, you are one hungry little girl." She took in Dean's bare plate and added, "and dad, too." She held out two dessert plates to give them a choice. Looking down at Emily, she put both plates down on the table. "Here are your choices, if you still have room in that little tummy. Bread pudding or chocolate pie."

Dean watched her eye both plates and when Emily pointed toward the pie a very big, very goofy smile broke over his face. "Make that two," he said to the waitress, unable to stop the laugh from coming out. Pie. This was his kid and she'd just met him a few days ago, but she wanted pie. Pie was a big deal.

"You like pie, huh?"

Before she could nod, the pie arrived and Emily attacked it with a great deal of enthusiasm.

He'd only had one bite and this kid had nearly inhaled her whole slice. "Guess that's a yes." It wasn't the best pie he'd had, but it felt like it. Dean left the check and his cash on the table and the two of them left to go wait for Sam. The parking lot was mostly empty except for a truck and empty silver rental car but there was no Sam to be found.

"We'll give him thirty minutes then we're going to locate your Uncle Sammy." Something didn't feel right about not knowing Sam's exact location.

Emily's grip on his hand suddenly became lighter and she was falling behind a bit. Dean looked down to find her head drooping down and he laughed a little at how quickly she went from sixty to zero. "Full belly making you sleepy?" he asked, holding her hand more tightly. Might come in handy for her to take a little nap and let him do a quick supply check and bring in some of the more substantial weapons from the trunk.

She didn't look up at the sound of his voice and staggered against his leg. Dropping down to his knees, Dean held her chin up in his hand. Her eyes were unfocused and barely open. Emily's normal pink cheeks were suddenly pale. "What's wrong, Emily?" Her body wobbled as he ran his hand over her forehead and then she crumbled into his arms without warning, limp and unconscious.

This wasn't an exhausted kid full of pie. Panic rose up into his throat as he snatched her up close to his chest and pounded toward the car. Her breathing was slow and her pulse was just as faded. He was halfway to the Impala when his vision began to blur. Catching himself against a metal post, he fought to keep the spots in front of his eyes from blending together into total darkness.

_Stupid son of a bitch_.

He gripped Emily's ragdoll body to his chest and focused on getting into the shelter of the motel room instead of the car and not dumping them both onto the ground. They were caught; out in the open, ripe for the taking.

_Keep breathing, Baby._

The drugs or spell or whatever the fuck they'd thrown at them was working fast and he had to get into that room. They were probably watching him stumble down the walkway like a drunken bitch, laughing at him and how easy it was to fuck him up and steal his kid.

_Stupid son of a bitch._

His stupidity was going to get them both killed unless he could make it to that room on his feet. Arms going numb, his hand found the gun in his belt by instinct alone. Colors and sound were bleeding together, mocking him when he fell into the room, barely keeping upright.

He could defend the room until Sam got there if he could stay conscious.

_Stay conscious, damnit!_

He was crawling now and his arms were light where her little body had fallen away from his grasp between the beds. He took cover there, pushing Emily behind him. He couldn't see the door, but it was there in the general direction he pointed and they were coming in. Dean propped his gun on the bed, planning to take out as many as he could. There was movement under his other hand. She was still breathing. That was good. Dean concentrated on breathing in and out with her and feeling and hearing so he could stay in the conscious world and guard the door.

_Hurry up, Sammy. Please._

There was the sound of splintered wood and light flooded into the room where the door should be. He thought he fired, told his finger to squeeze but couldn't hear it. He told the other hand to hold onto Emily and make them cut it off to get her.

_Stay the fuck away from her or you're dead!_

He thought he said it but he was drowning in the black now and then he didn't think anymore.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Firefly – Chapter 22

By: Suz Mc

The Impala sitting there in the parking lot was a shining hunk of metal relief to Sam and he squealed his rental to a stop beside it. If the car was here, Dean was here and no one had bushwhacked him on the road. Sam had driven straight through from the airport to Cheyenne Wells at well over the speed limit, praying he wouldn't have to shake a cop in an Altima and now he'd made it to his family and things were going to be okay. Together, they could deal with what was coming. The sight of that black car quieted some of the fear that had been tightening his chest since he had read Emily's fate written in Latin.

He was almost unfolded out of the car when the splintered motel room door ignited that fear once again. Choking down the panic, Sam resisted the urge to rush inside the room. Instead, he flattened himself against the outer wall. All of his weapons were in the trunk of a Honda in Austin, Texas, and Dean Winchester never ever left his trunk unlocked. He was going in practically naked and useless if the bastards were still here. Sam reached out a shaky hand, eased the door open just a hair, and waited to hear movement. Everything remained still and quiet so he pushed a little more. Still nothing. Slowly, Sam inched inside the room, overwhelmed by the dead silence until he saw Dean's boot poking out from between the twin beds.

He got to Dean's motionless body in a terrified haze, instinctively grasping for a pulse at his neck. "Dean! Wake up, man!" His brother was still and ghostly pale, a thin film of sweat covering his body and soaking through his shirt. There was a pulse and his respiration was shallow but there was air coming in and out and a heart beating. Using his hands, Sam carefully looked for blood or broken bones and found none.

Dean was unconscious, but not in danger so Sam shifted to the huge missing piece to this puzzle – Emily. Getting up from his knees, Sam called out loudly, "Emily! It's Sam, come out!" He tore through the small room, looking under the beds and checking the bathroom. He called her name once more, knowing in his heart that she wasn't coming out because she wasn't there.

"Dean, wake up! Where's Emily?" Sam tangled his hands in Dean's shirt and yanked him upright to rest against the bed. "Come on," he muttered to himself and lightly slapped his brother's face. "Come on, Dean. Where's Emily? She needs you, man!" He slapped a little harder and that sting got a groaning incoherent response.

Dean's eyelids wiggled open and shut erratically. He leaned to the side, groping the carpet with his hand and Sam grabbed him to keep him upright.

"Hey, Dean. It's me. Sam," he said, grabbing his brother's face with one hand, trying to get him to focus. "Open your eyes, dude."

"Where?" Dean jerked away from his grasp and threw both hands to the floor, searching for something in the carpet. "Where…Emily…"

"She's not here, Dean." Sam had to grab his shoulders as Dean slumped to the floor, weak and disoriented. Hauling his brother's body back into a sitting position, Sam tried to latch onto the thread of consciousness that was there. "Focus, Dean." He tapped his face again and watery green eyes opened a bit wider.

"Sam? Sam."

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Took her. Drugged." He mumbled the words, fighting to get them out.

"Someone drugged you, Dean? Who? Did they drug Emily, too?"

Two sweaty hands grabbed Sam's shirt and Dean used the grip to pull his body forward. "We have to go. We have to get her back. She was alive, breathing…"

That exertion drained all of his energy and Dean slumped forward onto Sam's chest, still trying to wrestle himself out of the poisoned fog.

"Gun. Get my gun. Let's go." Dean tried to shove himself off of Sam's chest and get to his feet only to fold in on himself with a gasp of failure.

Sam settled Dean back against the bed. "You're not going anywhere until you get yourself together. Sit for a second so you can make sense."

For the next few seconds, Dean sucked in deep gulps of air, trying to force oxygen into his chest. Sam watched as reality settled over his brother's face, the fear hardening his features.

"Are you with me, Dean?" Sam sat back, giving Dean's brain time to rerun what had happened and catch up with the present.

"I'm good." Dean reached back on the bed and found his gun, pulling the weapon into his palm and slipping the clip free for a quick check. "Let's go."

"Where are we going, Dean?"

He looked lost and shook his head. "I don't know. We just have to go. We've got to get her back."

"Listen to me," Sam said, reaching out to steady Dean from his terrified spiral. "We'll get her back, but we have to figure out what to do. I need to talk to you first."

"We don't have time, Sam." He tried to get to his feet again, only making it to the side of the bed. "They could have given her too much. She was barely breathing."

"Dean, they aren't going to take the chance on an overdose. They need her alive for now." Sam watched Dean process what he'd just heard, his senses sharpening with every second.

"Do you know something? You do, don't you? Tell me."

Of all the bad news Sam had ever delivered, he dreaded this moment the most. There was no time to lead into the story and spin it to avoid the terror it would inspire in the already wounded man in front of him.

"I know what Amora wants and why." Sam sank down heavily on the bed beside Dean, choosing to face away as he began. "The text I translated said that in order for Amora to be free from Hell, she has to perform a specific ceremony at midnight on the last day of her term after being summoned."

Dean hung his head low against his chest and Sam had to strain to hear his words. "It's a blood sacrifice, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Oh God."

"That's not all, Dean. The sacrifice had to be one of a kind. The text reads that it must be a 'virgin child of light and fire—"

"What the hell does that mean? Calley said that, too. Said that Amora made Emily a 'child of light and fire.'"

He had to tell him the complete truth as he understood it, even though he wasn't exactly certain what that was. One touch couldn't reveal everything and something inside of Sam still wanted to cling to the notion that the seismic connection he'd felt when he touched Emily's hand was all from him. Maybe he'd felt the remnants of a demon Maybe there was some mercy in the world that wouldn't wreck her life the way Azazel had wrecked Sam's.

But wanting something to be so had never worked for Winchesters. Whatever it was, it was real and he couldn't hide it from Dean anymore.

"I'm not sure, Dean, but I think it has to do with Amora being in Calley's body. Maybe she did something to Emily."

That wary look spread over Dean's features as he sorted through facts and words and feelings. "Like what, Sam? Like Azazel? Please tell me it's not that, not again."

Despair and terror were consuming Dean, eating up his strength while Sam watched. "Dean, I don't know what it means, but there's more."

"What?"

"The child had to be 'born of lust alone and sired by a doomed soul.'"

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered then looked at Sam, stunned and horrified. "That's me. That's why she brought Calley to me because I was going to Hell and she wanted me to be her sperm donor. Jesus." Dean stood on shaking legs and wobbled a bit as he tried to move away from the truth that just kept getting more and more hopeless.

"Amora decided to breed her own human sacrifice instead of searching for a match."

"That's why she said I was 'the perfect one.'"

"We have until midnight tonight to stop it, Dean." Sam watched Dean's despair expanding as he realized the child of his heart was doomed to be murdered, ritually sacrificed, if he couldn't magically find her. "Amora can't actually perform the act, she has to have followers do her dirty work but her hands have to be in the blood after—"

"Stop!" Dean prowled the room, trying to escape from Sam's words.

"Dean, listen—"

An ugly lamp hurled across the room, shattering into pieces against the bathroom door and Dean fell back against the wall, recently rebuilt energy sailing across the room with the furniture. His eyes were pinched shut, his face a twisted mask of pain. "I let them take her. She trusted me and I let them take her. Fucking shit."

Sam was by his side, trying to hold him together. Dean had invested everything he had in becoming Emily's father and it was being ripped out of him in some dingy tragic motel room.

"We'll find her, Dean. I swear."

Dean shook himself free of Sam's grasp. "How, Sam? Just how the fuck am I going to find her? I don't even know how they found us or who they are or how to fucking get any leads by fucking midnight!" He was staggering around the room in his fury, looking for something else to destroy.

Sam reconciled his decision while he watched Dean coming apart. "You can't find her, but I can." That stopped his brother cold.

"What?"

Sam calmly crossed the room and sat down on the bed, settling himself for the fight that was most surely coming. "I said I can find her, Dean. We have a connection and I can use it to find her. I've used it before and I know I can do it."

Dean latched on to the hope Sam threw his way. "What the hell are you talking about? " He sat down beside Sam and a spark of understanding flash in his eyes. "You're talking about that psychic crap, aren't you? You said it was gone, you were done with that years ago."

It was exactly the response Sam expected. He didn't bother with the standard argument because this was going to involve revealing a secret he'd kept for a very, very long time. "It's something I," Sam stopped before he said "learned from Ruby" because Dean still had issues with Ruby and now wasn't the time to add more stress. "It's something I used at the last seal, when I couldn't find you."

That had been the single most terrifying moment of Sam Winchester's life. Only minutes had stood between stopping Lilith and a thousand years of Hell on Earth and Dean was the one who had to be there with him. Using his power was the only choice.

"You told me Cas found me and stopped them from dragging me back." Dean hated being lied to and the bitterness in his voice was clear.

"He did, after I told him where to go, but just listen to what I have to say." When Dean remained quiet, Sam launched into the details of what he was about to do. "It's not like the visions. Those just showed things that could happen or were going to happen. If I focus on the person or the event," Sam struggled for the right words to describe the freakish talent he'd only used once, "I can bend time and see what's happened already, what is happening, and what could happen. I can look around like I'm really there, not just see what pops up."

"You think you can do this bending to see where they took her?"

Dean hadn't blown up or launched into any endless tantrum about how Sam shouldn't use his power or point out his less than human status because he was still stuffed with demon blood. His brother was grabbing at the only hope he had and was willing to do anything. When Dean got to the "willing to do anything" point, things generally went violently wrong.

Sam wasn't going to let it. Not this time.

"I do, but I need your help."

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it, Sam."

"You have to anchor me." At Dean's confused look, Sam said. "The last time, I kinda got lost in the process and almost didn't make it out."

Dean's confusion turned to understanding. "You're trying to tell me that you almost died doing that, that thing? Right?"

"If you'll just be here and help me stay tied to the present, it'll be okay."

"No." Dean was shaking his head. "I'm not going to risk both of you. We've got to find another choice."

Battle had been a way of life between Sam and his brother. They'd traded offense and defense almost hourly through their years of traveling and fighting the enemy and each other. Sam's first instinct was to raise his voice and lay out his case point by point and beat Dean into submission with a louder voice and better facts.

But this was different. Sam watched Dean struggle, desperately wanting to grab the thread to save Emily, terrified at the notion of losing his brother in the process. Taking the decision away from Dean was the only way to help him.

Sam kept his voice calm and steady, resigned to his choice. "Dean, I'm not going to let you lose her and I'm not going to be lost if you'll help me." When Dean opened his mouth to argue, he shut him down. "I'm doing it with or without your help, but you'll double my chances of getting it right if you'll get on board."

Reconciliation between Dean's need to say yes and his need to say no was hard won. Sam waited for the moment of surrender and it eventually came with a sharp intake of air Dean used to muffle a break in his voice. "Okay." He looked Sam right in the eye, and said, "Swear to me this will be okay."

"I swear."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just be here and listen to what I say in case I can't remember it or hold onto it." Sam started to settle himself. He reached out to take Dean's hand. Every connection he could find to Emily would help and Dean was tangled up in Emily with every cell of his body.

Dean didn't resist the intimate touch. On any other occasion, Dean would have jerked away and told Sam they weren't going steady. Not today. "When you said you needed an anchor, what do you mean, Sam? I don't know what you want me to do." His grip tightened.

"Last time, when I got to the shift between the present and future, that's where I got lost." Lost in the sight of Dean being dragged into the pit and his eyes going black and his soul disappearing into a void of brutality. "I just got so deep into it, I almost couldn't pull myself out," Sam said, looking down at his big brother firming up the grip on his hand like he could keep him from falling into his own mind. "It won't be like that this time."

With a short smile, Sam closed his eyes and let the gates open to release the flood he fought so hard to contain. Emily and her sad little eyes played through his mind and getting hold of her energy wasn't hard to do. It was intense and bright, amped up by the intense fear she had bottled inside her tiny fortress of a body. The room was filled with it, a silent scream that was swirling through the space. What had happened to Dean in that room, the panic and defeat, radiated up through Sam's skin, bringing him back to the moment of the attack.

The door broke open under the pressure of someone's kick. Sam stood in their path and three intruders waltzed through his body and he reached out to grab them from sheer reflex. Dean was sprawled out on the floor, his body covering Emily's where she lay unconscious on the carpet. One of his brother's hands was gripping the little girl's shirt in a tight fist and he mumbled something as a man jerked him away from Emily and tossed him out of the way.

"Three of them. A guy with red hair picked her up."

The man was carrying Emily out of the door, followed by the other two. A woman wiped down the room for prints before leaving and pulling the door shut behind her. Sam followed, watching them all pile into a silver rental car.

"Colorado plate. DCL 667"

Sam put himself into the vehicle. Emily was laying out loosely in the woman's lap, red haired man beside her. They were talking and Sam had to clear his head to concentrate. He tried to listen and repeat.

"Good thing we happened across that redneck asshole and his tracker. Should have invited him to the show. What was his name? Drake?" They all shared a laugh full of arrogance and satisfaction.

"Drake found you, Dean."

Dean's hand jerked against his in the real world and it made the vision fade around him just a bit. It came back around him in pieces. Sam moved the scene forward a bit, trying to figure out where they were going.

Emily stirred slightly. She was about to open her eyes and Sam instinctively reached out to comfort her so she wouldn't be alone in that car with freaks who wanted to kill her. His hand slid through her. She came alive more forcefully than her father had. Zero to sixty. At the second she realized she was being held by a stranger, her body fired into rebellion, arms fighting against the woman's firm grasp. She kicked her feet hard, landing one in the red haired man's lap.

"She's fighting now that she's awake. Nailed the guy in the nuts and he's pissed."

The man raised his hand, swinging it through Sam to slap at Emily's face only to have it stopped cold in the woman's grip. "Don't mark her face. Amora wouldn't like that." Emily twisted and almost got to the floor and out of the woman's lap. The bitch stopped her by wrapping her hand around Emily's bandage and squeezing. The pain bled silently from Emily's eyes and she melted weakly to the floor, surrendering against the unmerciful assault. "Be still or I'll put you in the trunk."

"Lindsey did that to her, too, Dean. Told her not to talk or she'd burn her eyes out and kill her new daddy. Squeezed her burn. That's why no touching for so long."

The vision wavered, being shifted by Sam's own anger. This wasn't going to help. He turned, focusing on the driver. The landscape was speeding by out the window. He saw a highway sign. 40. Going north. The driver was calm with a one-handed grip on the wheel. Looked like he was driving to the movies or the grocery store. Not to an altar to slit a little girl's throat.

Dean was talking to him but he couldn't hear clearly. The driver was fooling around with a GPS on the seat. He handed it back over the seat. "Plug in the address. Maybe it'll help us cut our time."

Yeah, you bastard. Type in the address. Sam blended back to hover over the red haired man's shoulder, his heart pounding in his ears.

"He's typing, Dean. He's typing the address." He felt like he was shouting, as if there were headphones covering his ears. "Listen, Dean." It was hard to focus on such small details. Sam leaned in closer, wishing he could slam his elbow into the bastard's face.

"4219 Deer Walk Rd, Centennial, Colorado. That's where they're going."

He moved to the present. Still on the road, going north. Emily was silent and limp, eyes wide open but blank. She'd shut down completely, unable to deal with the reality around her.

"She's alive. I told you she would be."

He had the destination. He should pull back so they could get on the road but the temptation was too great. If he could see the location of their stronghold, it would help. They wouldn't go in blind. The pounding in his brain grew louder the further Sam traveled from the now to the possible. He called it a possible outcome because they were going to change it. The road was long and rough, gravel wet from rain. A white farmhouse surrounded by windows. Two sentries were walking the perimeter. Dean would kill them first. An odd black mist was drifting around the house, smoldering near the ground. The stink was unmistakable. Amora was there, disembodied and lurking. Sam moved through her, feeling the evil mist licking against his mental self.

As he stepped through the door, the action shifted into a spiraling fast-forward. Emily in white. Black band on her neck. Black candles. Amora taking a host and standing over the altar while the twisted human accomplices stretched the struggling child over the wooden surface.

"Stop…God, please stop…"

Sam put himself over Emily's body, trying to block the knife that sliced right through him, slitting her throat and freezing her dark eyes wide open.

He was losing himself in the nightmare of her dead eyes, her lifeless hand that he couldn't feel. No power. No tingle. Amora's host drenching herself in the blood and her power exploding through the room. Sam was choking on the filthy sulfur stink filling his nose and mouth. His eyes were seared from the burning light flashing out of Emily's corpse, enveloping his senses. The light was warm and soft full of little girl energy and it was the only comfort in a room of savage pleasure in pain. Sam lay down against Emily's cheek, weeping and defeated wanting to feel that comfort.

"Sammy!"

Dean. God. Dean's child was dead and he wouldn't be able to survive it. Sam tried to close his eyes, his ears. He didn't want Dean to see this, to hear this.

"Get out of there, Sammy!"

The voice was stronger now and Sam was being pulled away from Emily's bloody body, pulled away from those dead eyes and wild bloody assholes celebrating. Somebody had him, a real touch, not a fake touch like in this demented vision. He tasted blood, real blood and his knees hit the floor.

Hands were holding his face and he leaned into the touch trying to blot out everything else. He was crying and Dean was holding him up, trying to help him.

"You're done, Sammy. Shut it down. We've got it."

Sam rushed back into the now, into the shabby motel room. He was on his knees, blood running from his nose and a headache flashing pain in his temples.

"I gotcha', Sammy." Dean was holding Sam's face up, wiping away the blood. "You here with me, dude? Talk to me."

"I'm here," he said, feeling the sob catch in his throat. "Did you hear me? The address?"

"I got it all." Dean's voice was quiet and rough, making Sam wonder how much of the final moments he'd blurted out for Dean to suffer through.

The stability began to return and Sam pulled himself off the floor and sat on the bed, reassembling his control. Dean's hand was on his back, helping his to steady himself.

"Promise me you'll never, ever do that again, or I'll kick your ass." Dean got off the bed and went to gathering his and Emily's things to put into the Impala. He didn't wait for an answer, just assumed it was agreement.

Sam got up and followed his brother, understanding that they couldn't talk about the disastrous future that was waiting for all three of them in some weathered Colorado farmhouse.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

Firefly – Chapter 23

By: Suz Mc

What Sam had in his hand was going to set Dean off into a Hiroshima level rage. When he turned to go back into the motel room, he caught sight of Dean standing over Emily's suitcase. The top was flapped open and he was filling it with her coloring books, her Disney Princess blanket, and the picture Sam had given her days earlier. The last item to be added was Cinderella Barbie. For a few seconds, Dean hesitated, holding the doll in both hands and looking at it as if it actually was Emily, held safe in his hands.

The only way to get a handle on the unshielded, unprotected Dean was to study him when he wasn't looking. Sam had learned that from years of covert surveillance on his brother, and it was the only way to dig through the layers of bravado and bullshit. Right now, it felt like being a peeping tom catching someone naked and stripped of his defenses. If it wasn't so completely heartbreaking, the sight of his brother with a frilly plastic princess would have been funny. Dean's hands held weapons and beer bottles and way too friendly bar chicks, not dolls and not little girls. Until now.

Dean was barely holding it together at this point and if they found that little girl dead, he'd let go altogether. It wasn't fatalism, it was fact. Dean let go of the doll and let it bounce gently into the pink suitcase that held everything that was Emily. As the doll settled, Dean wobbled a bit and had to steady himself with both hands gripping the tiny square bag.

"Hey," Sam said, startling Dean as he struggled to camouflage his dizziness. "Give me the keys. I'm driving."

"Hell no, you're not." Dean zipped the suitcase shut and tucked it under his arm. He drew in a few deep breaths, a forced rigidness taking over his posture.

"You got rouphied, Dean, and unless you think running us into a ditch is going to help get us where we're going, you shouldn't drive."

Dean hesitated, fighting against his control issues, before he pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them over. He slapped them into Sam's palm, none too gently.

"Wait." Sam reached out to stop Dean's progress toward the door. Opening his other hand, Sam dangled a magnetic mount with a transmitter. "This is how they tracked you."

Dean snatched the device out of his hand, anger forcing a rush of red into his pale face.

"Where was it?" Dean was focusing all of his frustration on the disk the size of a fingernail.

"Bumper. "

"That's why I got that ass-kissin' apology from Drake. It was so one of his buddies could put this on my car." Dean closed his fist around the transmitter and began to prowl the room. "I've killed fuckin' vampires and werewolves and goddamn demons but I couldn't keep a bunch of piss poor humans from taking my kid!" He slammed the metal and wire down to the floor and stomped it into useless debris on the carpet.

"Dean."

"No, Sam!" Dean shouted back at his brother, venting his fear and failure. "Calley, non-hunter, five foot two Calley, stopped a demon from taking Emily, but I let these suck ass human beings get her!" He ground his foot into the carpet, growling out his anger once again.

There wasn't any way to soothe Dean's rage at this point, or to make any of this better so Sam wasn't even going to try. The only way to make this better was to undo it.

"Let's go," Sam said, heading toward the door. He could hear Dean's heavy footsteps behind him and felt the slam of a ruined motel room door. Dean needed silence to pull himself together and he had to give it to him. To get this done, his brother was going to have to be pure, one hundred percent Dean Winchester, not just some terrified father out of his mind with worry about his missing child. He had to be sharp and he was going to have to be brutal, they both were. Talk was going to take away from Dean's ability to yank those harder pieces of himself closed over that other guy who was scared to death he couldn't save Emily.

Sam slid behind the wheel and looked away as Dean carefully placed Emily's suitcase in the backseat where she should be sitting.

*****

As long as she pretended to be asleep, the mean grownups were leaving her alone. The seat was small and if she didn't keep her legs pulled in tight, she would feel her feet touch the man on the other side and she didn't want to touch him or be close to him at all. When she'd decided to close her eyes, the lady who'd hurt her had made them stop and got into the front seat. That was good. That lady was super mean and had squeezed her arm and made it hurt again just like that Lindsey lady and she didn't want to touch that lady either. It made her stomach hurt.

The car was hot and that ugly book Lindsey had kept in her car was on the floor of this car, too. When the mean lady had hurt her arm, she'd fallen on the floor on top of it and it had buzzed in her leg. It felt like the buzz when new Uncle Sammy had held her hand, but not nice like that. It was a scary, scratchy feeling and she wasn't going to touch that again.

Where was Daddy? They were walking and then she felt funny and then she was here with these bad people. When they talked, it sounded ugly, like they weren't nice at all. They laughed at mean things. They were talking about some lady they'd put in the trunk of a car somewhere and laughing about shaking her teeth out on bumpy roads. Before Mama went to heaven, they were never around people like that. Now, everybody was mean like that. But not Daddy or Ellen or Uncle Sammy or Jake. They were all new but they were nice. They didn't let people be mean or talk mean at her.

Daddy was new at knowing about little girls. That's what he said when he was trying to do the bubble bath right and poured it all in the tub. It was fun. Mama never did all the bubbles at once and it piled over the bathtub onto the floor and she wanted to laugh but no sounds would come out. Her sound maker was broken and it better stay that way or Lindsey was going to come burn her new Daddy up like what happened to Mama. He said he was sorry if he didn't do it right when he was washing her hair but it was okay. It was funny to see him with all the bubbles on his shirt and he laughed so she didn't feel so bad that she couldn't. When she got scared at night and those awful dreams kept coming, he was there to hold her and they went away. He was really big but he talked sweet, like Mama did, and it felt better when he was there. He got scared sometimes, too, and she heard him yell like he was having a bad dream but he felt better when she came in his room and checked on him like he did on her. Somebody hurt his arm like they did her arm and she wondered if it was that same lady with the black eyes.

She wanted Daddy to come get her out of this hot car and take her away from the scary people. He was going to be really mad at that lady and make that lady. Maybe he was close by and if they stoppe, he'd be there. If she kept her eyes shut tight and kept really still, they would leave her alone until Daddy came to find her.

The car stopped moving and she almost fell off but she kept still on the seat.

"Pump the gas, I'll pay."

It was the lady's voice and she slammed the door hard. The seat moved beside her and she felt the mean red headed man's leg press against her shoe.

"I'm going to pee." He leaned over and she felt his breath and she wanted to cry, but she kept still like she was asleep. "She's still out." The door slammed shut and the little breeze felt cool but it didn't last.

One more door opened and shut and she was all by herself. They were gone and it was nice that they were gone. The last mean man was outside and she heard noises like when Mama put gas in her little red car. Now she could open her eyes and she slid over to the side of the car away from the man putting in the gas. When she looked out the window, she didn't recognize anything. They weren't anywhere she knew, but then she saw the back of a man on the other side of the big parking lot. It was him! It was Daddy! She couldn't see his face, but his hair looked like Daddy and he had on the black t-shirt he was wearing that got the bubbles on it and boots and blue jeans with holes. She pushed the door lock thingie and shoved the door open. Daddy was walking away to the other side and the black car must be there somewhere. She ran hard and she could feel the hot pavement. Daddy had a bag in his hand and he liked cheeseburgers so there must be one in that bag. She ran harder and she got close to him and grabbed his leg so he'd stop and pick her up and they'd get away from those mean people.

"Hey, there." His leg stopped walking and he had his hand on her head and it was going to be okay. She kept her eyes shut because she just wanted him to pick her up and get her away from those mean people and she didn't want to see them again.

"What's wrong, pretty girl? Are you lost?"

She opened her eyes because it wasn't Daddy's voice and he was down in front of her and it wasn't Daddy's face either and she started to cry.

"Emily!"

It was the lady yelling and she jumped at the sound because Daddy wasn't there and the lady was running toward her. She threw her arms around the man who wasn't Daddy, hoping he wouldn't let the lady get her.

"It's okay, sweetie. " The man was nice. Maybe he would fix it.

"Emily, precious, it's okay." The lady's voice was different now. She was talking sweet, but she wasn't. The mean lady's hands were sweaty and she wrapped them around her waist and tugged at her and she held tighter to the man.

"Thank you so much for stopping her, Sir." The lady was dragging her away and she pulled on her hurt arm and she couldn't hold on to the man's neck.

"Uh, is there a problem? She seems really scared." The man wasn't letting go. He knew this was a mean lady and she was a big fat liar! He was smart, like Daddy.

"Yes, I'm afraid there is. This poor little girl was kidnapped from Texas and we're taking her back home." The lady jerked her hard and pulled her away from the man who wasn't Daddy. "She's been terribly traumatized. Come on, sweetie."

She started kicking and twisting, hoping she could get away. The man in the black t-shirt didn't believe the mean lady and he was following them.

"Hey, wait a minute! Are you cops or something? Let me see some ID!"

It didn't matter how hard she fought to get away, the lady was holding on too tight. They were already at the car when the nice man caught up to them. The red haired monster man was there and he pulled the door open and they threw her inside the car and it hurt so bad. The lady got in and slammed the door and her face was red hot mad. The woman reached over to grab her arm but she pushed over to the other door as far as she could to be out of reach.

"You're gonna be sorry, you little bitch!"

The nice man who looked like Daddy was punching numbers into his cell phone and saying that he was calling the cops. When he pulled the phone up to his ear, the mean red-haired man pulled out something long and shiny and stuck it into his stomach. He yanked it sideways and blood ran out all over the man's shirt. He didn't yell or scream like it hurt, just looked scared and fell down on the ground.

The air got really, really hot and everything looked like it was spinning around and then it was dark again.

***

Dean hated riding shotgun with a passion, unless he was sleeping. Riding like a wounded passenger in his own car pissed him off even more and added to the pounding in his head. At least when he was driving, he could focus on the road, on the signs, on the speed, and not on what was happening to Emily. Even with his eyes wide open watching the landscape go by, there was a morbid video playing in his mind. Those people were willing to slit a child's throat. What else were they willing to do to pass the time with her?

"How long are you going make me ride in the bitch seat?" Dean shifted hard in the seat, not knowing what to do with his foot when it wasn't on the gas."

"It's been an hour," Sam said, not taking his eyes off the road. "You think you're clean?"

"Yes, damnit."

Sam gave one of those heavy sighs that pissed Dean off no end. "We need to fill up so when we stop you can take over, okay?"

He reached over the seat and pulled out Sam's translation notes. The only explanations Dean had of Emily's impending fate had come filtered through his brother and he wanted it firsthand.

"Are you sure you want to read those?"

"No, but I have to."

Another long sigh from the driver's seat.

"Maybe there's something in here that will give us an edge." Dean flattened the pages filled with Sam's long hand scrawl out across his lap. "Are you positive you got the translation right?"

"Do you think I'd make a mistake with something this important?" Sam's grip tightened on the wheel and Dean pulled back his attitude just a bit.

"No, I don't."

"I wish I was wrong."

"I know you do."

Dean began to digest the ancient horror of the words, trying to pretend that they were referring to some anonymous sacrifice without a name and not the little girl who liked pie and pretended she was taller than she was.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

Firefly – Chapter 24

By: Suz Mc

Dean was already in the driver's seat by the time Sam started pumping the gas. The steering wheel felt good in his hands and he was almost embarrassed at the desire he felt to hold onto it while they were still sitting motionless at the pumps. The Impala didn't mind giving him some comfort and he damn sure needed some now.

He'd read the translated text over and over, struggling through the more gruesome sections where Sam's handwriting had deteriorated to a scribble. Sam had kept cutting his eyes over at him while he read, waiting for him to explode and smash his fist through the windshield. Somehow, he'd gotten through it without letting his brain bleed out through his ears or his heart tear open the front of his chest.

Focusing on Emily's face helped for a while. As long as he pictured her alive, he could hold it together. The way she smiled when he totally screwed up that bubble bath and spent an hour cleaning it up. How completely pissed she was when she was too short for the booth in the restaurant. Her face when she was sleeping without fear slashing apart her dreams.

"Here." Sam was suddenly in the car, shoving a cup of coffee into his hand.

"Thanks." It was hot, stinging his throat and he liked the way it made him more alert. Pain wasn't always a bad thing. Most of the time, but not always.

It didn't take long to get the Impala settled well over the speed limit and Dean clung to the wheel tightly. Sam was now riding shotgun where he belonged and he reached over to pick up the pieces of paper Dean had tossed on the seat when he couldn't look at them anymore.

"I want to ask you about something that stood out to me about the ritual," Dean said, keeping his focus on the road. He had to call it "the ritual" instead of "the sacrifice" or he couldn't talk about it at all.

"Okay."

"There's a part that's bothering me and I want you to explain it to me."

"If I can."

"There's a phrase that said Amora's 'liberation is born from the source of her own annihilation.' I want you to explain that to me."

Sam didn't answer right away, just kept his eyes on the pages in his hand. Dean could hear Sam's finger running down the page, pretending he needed to see it in black and white when it was obvious he didn't. He'd translated the damn thing. He knew what it said.

"May have something to do with Emily," Sam said, shutting off quickly.

Little brother loved to talk and talk, but when he reigned in that vocabulary he was so proud of and switched to short non-information-giving sentences, it was his tell that something was off.

"No shit, Sam," Dean said, his patience ebbing away rapidly. "You know something and I want to know what it is."

"I told you Amora may have done something to Emily because she was inside Calley at her conception. That's it."

Dean tilted his head sideways, feeling the tension pop in his neck. "Something like what Azazel did to you, right?"

"Could be."

"Stop making me drag this out of you, Sam! You know more about this 'child of light and fire' bullshit and you'd better start talking. Silence is not optional! You told me you had a connection with Emily and I thought you meant blood and family but that's not it, is it?"

He could feel Sam looking at him and weighing the wisdom of holding on to whatever intel he had inside his head. "I'm not sure of anything and I didn't want to freak you out until I knew more."

"Freak me out!? Start talking, now."

"When I touch Emily's hand, we can both feel some kind of psychic buzz and it's physical and mental," Sam said, quickly adding, "but, Dean, I don't think it's bad."

"What the fuck are you telling me, Sam? You don't think it's bad?! How can this not be bad for her, damnit?!" Every nightmare moment he'd played out with Sam, courtesy of a yellow-eyed bastard, replayed in his mind with Emily's face jammed in the middle of it.

"Dean, I was trying to cover all the bases and rule out the worst case scenario before—"

"Worst case scenario? And what would that be, Sam? I think this is about as fubar as it gets already!" A disturbing thought struck Dean and he cut a cold glance in Sam's direction. "You thought she might be possessed, didn't you? Answer me?!"

"She's not. I checked."

"Son of a bitch, Sam! You touched her with holy water, didn't you? You poured holy water on my kid!"

"She was in my room the day I was leaving and when I felt that connection between us, I wanted to be sure there wasn't some demon riding her and lying dormant."

The way Sam said it, like he was checking off some demon detection to-do list, infuriated him. "What makes you think you have the fucking right to keep any of that from me? She's MY KID, not yours!"

"I know."

"Oh, no you don't! You keep going. Child of light and fire, what does it mean?"

"That she has something to do with light and fire."

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm not, Dean. Maybe that's why Amora tried to burn her."

"Alright, next topic. 'Liberation born from the source of her own annihilation.' If killing Emily--" He stopped for a second, thrown off balance by the reality of saying it out loud. "If killing Emily liberates Amora, that implies something, doesn't it?"

"That maybe Emily has something that's dangerous to Amora."

"That's just great, Sam. Awesome. Not only does she want Emily dead so she can get her freak on walking around earth getting laid and torturing women but she HAS to kill her before this little kid kills her first! And to top it off, Emily doesn't even know she can do it, right?"

"Stop, Dean. We don't know what she can do, if anything. That's the catch with demons throwing around their juice; you just don't know what's going to grow."

"Maybe I could have found out if you hadn't been doing your need to know bullshit, once again."

"One thing we do know is that Amora can't do the job herself so if we take out all of her groupies, she's screwed." Sam tried to defuse Dean's anger by offering a plan of action.

It didn't work.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Sam, because now's the time?" Dean watched Sam carefully. He had learned years ago to spot little brother's weaknesses and he was holding back one more card.

Sam remained silent.

"Don't think about it too long because the longer you wait, the more pissed I'm gonna be and I'm about as jacked as one human being can get!" Dean checked his watch. They would be in Centennial in a couple of hours. He'd give Sam one to spill the rest of it then he was going to wring it out of his hide.

***

It had been a long time since she'd tried to get away and everything had gotten black. Being in the backseat with the mean lady was making her feel sick. Every time the lady looked at her, it was like it burned. Her head hurt where it had hit the door when they threw her back in the car before they made that man bleed. Everything was foggy and fuzzy. She'd been scared so long that the poundy feeling in her chest wasn't even weird anymore; it was just the way she felt.

The mean people were talking but their voices sounded like they were far away, like she had cotton in her ears and she liked that because she didn't want to hear the ugly things they said. They were all excited like bad people get when they're about to be badder. There was a mean little girl at school who was like that. She'd get all wound up and loud when she was about to pull your hair, then she'd laugh if you cried about it. That's what those people were like. She wanted to fix them like she fixed that mean little girl and dump a bowl of chocolate pudding on their heads but she didn't have any and they were taller than that bully girl and they'd probably hit instead of running off crying to the teacher.

"How much longer?"

The mean lady was louder than the rest, like she was the boss or something. If Daddy was here, she wouldn't be his boss. But Daddy wasn't here and he probably wasn't coming because they must have made him bleed like that other guy who wasn't Daddy. When she thought about that, it made her dizzy and sick and she couldn't think.

"They're meeting us in two hours and we'll have plenty of time to prepare."

The red-haired man kept looking at her funny over the seat and she was glad she wasn't seeing clearly because he was the scariest of them all. He reached over the seat and pinched her leg and she was too tired to pull away anymore.

"You're going to be the star of the show, Cutie."

She didn't want him to call her that. That was what Daddy called her but he put "pie" at the end because he liked pie and her, too. Daddy was the only one who could say that, but he wasn't here and she wished he was. He was probably in Heaven by now. Maybe she was going to go there, too, and it would be nice, because then she'd be away from these mean people who were everywhere.

***

Sam had known from the beginning he should have told Dean about Emily and what he'd felt. But what was he supposed to say? "Dean, I think your little girl may have powers? What powers? Not sure, just powers."

Dean had fallen silent in his anger which was infinitely better than his bellowing earlier. The only Winchester ever allowed to have secrets was Dean, period. It was Dean's line in the sand and Sam had known it would set Dean off if he crossed it but he'd done it anyway.

Even though he was driving, Dean was planning. Sam could see that focused, pissed off look Dean wore while formulating a battle plan. By the time they arrived in Centennial, he would have a list of weapons to deploy and some way to get into that house and create the bloodbath he was fantasizing for anyone who'd hurt Emily.

Sam knew he was on Dean's shit list now, too, and he deserved to be there.

"Shit!" The curse slipped out as his phone vibrated in his pocket and yanked him out of his thoughts. As Sam read the email subject line, he couldn't help but say a sarcastic "Thanks" to the cosmic force that thought it was the perfect time to screw with him.

"What?" Dean had waited a total of three seconds before his curiosity won over.

"It's an email."

"Sam, I'm not going through this shit with you again with the short answers. Who's that from and what does it say?"

Sam scanned through the message and shut it down. The last thing they needed before going into battle was a wedge between them, but lying to Dean again wasn't an option at this point.

Sam took a deep breath, and then started his confession. "I've done something you told me not to and I have to tell you about it."

"Well, color me surprised! Sammy doing something I told him not to do. What a freakin' shock." Dean's hands were tight enough on the wheel to wring blood out of it at any second.

"The email is from Dr. Wallace."

"Wallace? Why the hell would he be sending you an email?" Dean's teeth ground together as the realization hit him. "Son of a bitch! You ran the fucking DNA test! Didn't you?!"

"Let me explain."

"YOU KNEW I didn't want it. YOU KNEW!" The bellowing was back. Dean slammed his hand against the wheel and the car shimmied slightly on the blacktop. "I swear to God, Sam, if I had time to pull this car over, I'd KICK YOUR SORRY ASS FOR THIS!"

"You and Emily both needed to know this, Dean. The truth always comes out."

"That's fuckin' unbelievable coming out of your mouth, Sam. The truth! Yeah, right. You're all for telling the truth unless it's something you want to keep from me. Fuck you! How could you do this to me? You're supposed to be my brother."

"I AM your brother, Dean! That's why I did this, because you couldn't and you and Emily BOTH need the truth. You know this was necessary, damnit."

"I know that you're a toothbrush stealing, sneaky bastard who won't stop talking!"

"You need to hear this and if you'll just listen—"

"SHUT UP! I'M NOT GOING TO LISTEN TO THIS RIGHT NOW SO JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!" Dean's face was bleach pale with dread and he was repeating his "shut up" mantra like a little kid covering his ears to block something he couldn't stand to hear.

"Dean."

"Stop talking or I'm gonna' shove that phone down your throat!" Dean was driving at the speed of his anger now, passing ninety and heading for ninety-five.

"Listen to me, damnit!"

"NO! You stop screwing around with my life!"

Sam lowered his voice. He didn't need to say this loudly because Dean was listening, no matter what he said.

"She's yours."

The death grip Dean had on the wheel held him still and he bit down on his lip hard to hold back the flood of what he was feeling. His body seemed to collapse inward, just a fraction, as the relief spread over him. He didn't make a sound except for the heavy breaths rushing in and out of his lungs. Sam knew his brother wasn't going to be able to talk for a while.

"She's yours, Dean, and I have the proof here in print. We're going to get her back and no one can ever take her away from you."

Dean cut a look over at Sam, made an attempt to speak, but stopped and looked back toward the road. Sam had no illusions concerning how Dean felt about being lied to, regardless of the outcome. At least there wouldn't be an axe hanging over Dean's family, waiting to hack it to pieces. Sam felt good about that, no matter how Dean felt about the end run Sam had done around his wishes.

When Dean finally spoke, his voice was low and rough. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, as long as you don't pull the car over and kick my ass."

"What were you going to do if the test said something else?"

"Nothing."

Sam had decided that from the second he'd watched his drug dazed, panicked brother crawling around on the motel room floor looking for his child. "You're Emily's father in every way that counts, ways that have nothing to do with blood. You're supposed to be her dad. That's all that matters."

"Okay."

That was all he was going to get from Dean for a while. The sun was setting and in the dimming light, Sam watched his brother allow himself a smile. They had four hours left until midnight. If they didn't stop Emily's sacrifice, it might be the last time he'd see one on Dean's face.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

Firefly – Chapter 25

By: Suz Mc

Dean had been able to occupy his mind over the past miles, focusing on battle plans and home invasion tactics, until they'd hit a detour that interrupted his momentum. Sam was standing just outside the car, trying to pull directions out of some Centennial local. They were now in the same town as Emily, within just a few miles of finding her and getting her back. And, even though he was hacked off at his brother for the Sammy Knows Best crap, thanks to him, no one could say squat about Dean being her father.

If he could get her back.

It was the first time he'd entertained the "if" during his hours of silent prep and planning. That one word was enough to get that hollow feeling cranking in his chest again. John Winchester had a terrific directive when it came to that issue. Never picture failure, only victory. God, he could be such a tool sometimes. Dean wondered if that DNA test was going to give him the ability to spout bullshit like that and think it made sense.

They needed more time, more backup, better intel, more and better everything.

Never picture failure. Yeah. He'd like to picture a case of tazer grenades in the back of his trunk and about a battalion of hunters to back them up. Maybe he couldn't make those things show up, but there was one lifeline he could make a grab for and all it required was digging out his long buried humility.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to isolate his mind away from the fear, away from Sam, away from everything except what he wanted to say. When he was ready, he opened his eyes and looked upward.

"Okay, I know you and I have had our differences and I'm sorry for most of those. Really, seriously, I am. But we seemed to have reached an understanding and I'm glad you let me help out with that Apocalypse deal." He thought better of it and decided to rephrase his opening statement to the Almighty. "Okay, that's not exactly true because it was a major pain in the ass, but I am glad it worked out and Lucifer isn't the new American Idol. Anyway, I understand your deal about us taking care of our own sandbox down here and the free will business comes with a price. I get all of that. I wouldn't ask you for a thing for myself. Yankin' me out of the pit pretty much meets the quota of help I'm due. Oh, and thanks for that, by the way. "

He was rambling and sounded like a fucking idiot. Get to the point, Winchester.

"Emily's just a little girl, she doesn't deserve to die. It can't serve any bigger picture for that little girl, for my little girl to die. I don't expect you to jam some huge spooky hand down into that house and deposit her on the seat here, but if you decided that was the way to go, you wouldn't get any complaints from me. All I'm asking is that you give me the break I need to save her. I'll do the work. I'll do whatever I have to do, if you'll just give me one edge, one opening. I swear to Go--, I mean, well, YOU, that I won't waste it."

He stopped for a second, scrambling for the words, hoping he was worthy of some notice. "I'm not going to make some lame promises to you about becoming celibate or showing up in church every Sunday because I really don't think you care much about that stuff. Anyhow, you and I both know I couldn't keep those kinds of vows. What I can tell you is that Emily will know right and wrong. I'll do my best to be a good dad and let her grow up knowing I love her and she matters. Just, please, help me and Sam save her."

There was no sign, no parting of the clouds or earthquake to signal that anyone outside of the Impala had heard his prayer. Emily didn't appear in the backseat. Dean noticed Sam walking back toward the car and added a quick, "Amen," to his request.

"Go back to the last four way stop and take a left," Sam said, climbing back into the car. "Follow that road for five miles and we'll be there."

**Dean put away the begging father that had just been inside him. The soldier was the one who would get this done. Never picture failure. He could do that. Dean popped a u-turn and headed back toward the intersection, picturing victory and a pyramid of dead demon groupies.**

***

The Impala was tucked neatly inside a curtain of trees, giving them the chance to arm themselves in privacy. There would be a half mile trek and crawl through the forest and brush to get to the wood frame house, but it was the best chance they had to go in undetected. Sam grabbed one last item from his jacket pocket and went to the back of the car to join his brother

Dean stood over the open trunk, making decisions about what to carry and what to leave behind. Every move was efficient and driven as he slipped the clip on his .45 and shoved it back in place then took a quick slide of his finger down a knife blade before sheathing it in his belt. He stuffed his pockets with extra ammo and a flask of holy water and then fit his sawed off into a long pouch in the lining of his jacket.

Sam went about his own business, arming himself and checking off the details. They knew what they were facing. Fanatical humans could be savage in battle because most of them were freaking willing to die. It was hard to fight someone whose self preservation skills were taking a backseat to their worship. But the humans could be dealt with because they died by conventional means no matter how high they were on demonic devotion. The demon was going to be another problem altogether.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was the way it always was before a battle, steady and determined.

"Yeah?"

"I need to make something clear before we pull the trigger on this deal." He was still shoving ammo into the loops on his belt and into his pocket, not taking time away from the prep for the conversation. "I'm going to kill them all. Humans, demons, all of 'em. You, me, and Emily are the only people walking out of there alive."

What Dean wanted was a slaughter, pure and simple. It was one thing to commit to killing when you were fighting a battle, but another to declare every human life in a building null and void without giving them the chance to switch sides. Civilians would call it bloodthirsty. Dean would call it covering your ass.

Dean stopped his obsessive armament grab and looked Sam straight in the eye. "I mean it. I won't leave one loose end that can come for her later. Understand? I'm wastin' them all." He didn't look away and assume an answer. Dean was going to demand a commitment from him.

"I'll kill the ones you miss." Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to acknowledge everything Dean was feeling. "We'll get her back."

Dean didn't back away from the touch like he normally did, just kept his eyes locked on Sam's. "Promise me something else."

"Anything." The second the word passed his lips, Sam knew he'd overshot the promise. Promising Dean "anything" without first seeing what you were promising was generally not a good idea.

In an uncharacteristically intimate move, Dean put his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder. It was like one of those corny "go on without me" gestures from the movies. "If you have to choose between us, choose her."

"Don't start that crap now," Sam said, yanking his hand away, trying to break the moment.

Dean held firm to Sam's shoulder. "I mean it, Sammy. Swear it, right now."

"It's not going to be like that, Dean, so shut up."

"Swear it." Dean's hand had a choke hold on his arm and he wasn't going to let go until he'd extracted that vow out of his flesh, if necessary.

"Okay."

"Say it."

"Jesus, Dean! Okay, I swear that I will save Emily over your sorry ass. Happy?"

"Totally," Dean said, letting go of his bruising grip on Sam's shoulder. Dean turned to head into the woods, but Sam stopped him.

"Wait, before we go, take this." Sam pulled the small silver charm he'd ripped from around Lindsey Deaton's neck out of his pocket. His brother took it carefully from Sam's palm, struggling to get a grip on the tiny protective icon with his large fingers. "If you can touch Amora with it, she's history, and she can't touch you if you have it on you."

"Thanks." Dean took a look at his watch. "We've got a little over an hour. Let's go."

Dean moved out, dialing down his customary stomp to move carefully through the brush. Everything in the surrounding landscape seemed to take on a brittle, angry feeling. Every stray limb scratched and the ground seemed to pop up uneven clods to stumble over. The air was heavy and choking, anticipating the bloodbath to come. It was like nature could feel the unspeakable acts that were being celebrated just a few meters away. Nature fought against demonic presence. Nature could be a bitch, but it hated demon bitches even more.

It took every inch of Sam's long stride to keep up with Dean as he covered the half mile in record time. When they got close enough to see the house, Dean dropped to one knee, yanking out the binoculars stuffed in his pocket. He scanned carefully, trying to get an accurate count and assess the building before he handed them to Sam.

"They've only got two outside and I'm guessing ten on the inside from the shadows I'm seeing," Dean said, watching the two sentries pass each other and keep walking the perimeter.

"These old houses usually have a common floor plan," Sam said, pointing toward the front of the building. "One big room across the front, another large room on the side, kitchen across the back and two or three bedrooms on the other side with a hallway between them."

The house was alive with movement in the main room. Shades were pulled to hide what they were doing, but every room was bright with lights, illuminating the furious preparations. Several vehicles were littering the front yard and Sam recognized the silver rental that had driven away with Lindsey Deaton inside.

"We can't go in with guns blazing if we don't know where she is." Dean was watching the men circle the house, counting how long it took them to make the full lap.

"My guess is she's in one of the bedrooms. These freaks are generally really dramatic about entrances with their rituals. They're not going to have her in the room while they set up the altar." Sam pulled the binoculars back to his eyes. "See that cellar entrance?"

There were bars on the windows, making them useless entry points, but a small pair of wooden doors located toward the back corner of the house looked promising. They were held shut by a heavy metal padlock which meant absolutely nothing to Sam Winchester and the set of lock picks warming up his pocket.

Dean took another magnified look and said, "Give me five to take them both out and have that door open when I get there." Without another word, he moved out.

Sam watched, scanning the scene for any new targets, while Dean began his killing spree. By now, Sam had watched Dean kill so many times, so many things, that it had lost its shock value. Now, he watched with the fascination one would use to admire an athlete. John Winchester had taught Dean the basics of killing, but he'd perfected it to an art. Sam had tried, but he could never make the leap to ruthless on a regular basis. Tonight, he would.

Dean moved from cover to cover across the yard, making his way to a nearby tree that stretched out beside the house. The prey soon ambled by, his shotgun tracking back and forth as if it was going to save his clueless ass. Dean moved from behind his cover in the perfect moment of opportunity that would put him on the man's back with no chance that he could respond. In an instant, the sentry's throat was cut and he was a lifeless pile stashed in the bushes and Dean was gone around the other side of the house.

That was Sam's cue to move in and he followed his brother's path toward the cellar doors. Working a job meant doing your job and not cluttering your brain with excess emotions and details. Sam did his job and opened the lock. Dean came around the corner, just in time to snatch open one side of the doors and take the lead moving down the stairs. Sam followed, closing the doors quietly behind them.

They both had guns ready, but until it was absolutely necessary, silent weapons were going to be the order of the day. Sam hoped they could pull off this scoop and run with Emily and leave the bastards wondering where she was as they drove away.

When Dean was confident that they were alone, he pointed toward the door leading into the house. "Okay, you watch the hall, I'll check the rooms. We find her, we get her out, and then I come back."

"Wait a minute," Sam said in a harsh whisper. "How 'bout we get us all out and run like hell?"

"I told you, they all die, Sam." He pointed toward the door with his gun. "Move."

Now was not the time to adjust Dean's mindset. Once Dean had Emily in his arms, Sam would have a better chance of convincing him to stay out and stay safe.

Dean was moving and Sam was following, like always. One handed, Dean pushed the door open, ready to fire if he met resistance. One inch at a time, he eased the door open and snaked his head out through the opening. It was clear and he signaled for Sam to follow.

They fell into a familiar pattern of movement. Dean on point, looking ahead, Sam at his back covering their escape. The first two rooms came up empty and Dean moved on to the far end of the hall, the dangerous end closest to the front of the house and the crowd that wanted to murder Emily. Sam watched as Dean pushed open the door, his entire focus on what he saw inside.

After his brother disappeared, Sam jacked up all of his senses to guard both ends of the long hallway from the middle, hoping Dean was going to pop quickly out of the door with Emily in his arms and they could get the hell out of this nuthouse.

Things rarely went that easily, but he could hope.

***

Dean heard a male voice talking low and smooth as he eased the door open. There was a small lamp on the bedside table, casting a dim glow around the bed in the center of the room. He processed the details quickly, adjusting his movements toward the red-haired target hovering over Emily where her hands were tied to the bedpost.

The man was hunched over her tiny body, one hand tangled roughly in her hair and the other gently stroking the outline of her cheek. She was paralyzed, eyes wide with nauseating panic.

"You are a sweet little one, aren't you?" the man whispered, pulling her face closer. "Let me see just how sweet you are." His hand skimmed along her tiny body as he moved to sit down on the bed.

No motion was wasted as Dean descended on the man, wrapping one hand tightly over his putrid mouth and yanking him back against the Bowie knife grasped firmly in his fist. He buried the blade to the hilt, imprinting his knuckles into the man's flesh. The sickening monster struggled against the furious hand holding in his screams and Dean felt a familiar rush of excitement he hadn't let himself feel since the days of Alistair and the rack. He wanted to feel that thrill as this bastard wriggled out the last seconds of his life on Dean's knife.

The man's knees buckled, but Dean held him upright by his face and the shard of metal he'd rammed into his back. Keeping his voice to a growling whisper, Dean put his lips to the dying bastard's ear.

"They have a special wing for fucked up pervs like you in the pit." He twisted the knife to prepare for the coup de gras. "Your kind always screams the loudest." With that, Dean pulled the blade sideways, enjoying the feel of slicing his prey's spinal cord in two.

The body crumbled into a lifeless hunk of flesh and bone in Dean's grasp and he laid it soundlessly on the floor, and then shoved it underneath the bed. He wiped his blade clean on his victim's shirt, bloodlust and rage still pounding in his ears.

He shut off the killer inside as he focused on Emily where she cowered on the bed.

"It's okay, Cutie Pie," he whispered, reaching out to her. The little girl's entire body flinched and she struggled to get away. She looked even smaller than before, dressed in a snow white nightgown and bare feet. The gauze bandage on her arm was soaked in blood where someone had reopened her wound. Emily was desperately pulling her wrists against her bonds.

Dean forced calmness into his voice and eased himself down onto the edge of the bed. "It's me. It's Daddy. I'm here now, Emily. It's okay."

Large, brown eyes settled on him and she stopped retreating. Emily's entire face crumbled into tears and silent sobbing, as she accepted the fact he was really there, as if she'd thought he couldn't possibly be anyone but another monster coming after her.

"Hold still while I cut you loose, Sweetie," he said, slicing through the rope holding her. The second the bonds fell away, she rushed up into his arms and tangled around his neck, her shuddering body trying to climb inside his jacket to hide.

Careful of the deadly blade in his hand, Dean wrapped her closely to his chest, trying to ease the violent shaking in his child's body. Her terror was so big, so completely overwhelming, he felt the shockwaves of it travel into his own body.

"It's okay. I gotcha. It's okay." He kissed her forehead and breathed in the soft, little girl smell of her against his cheek. She was alive and she was going to stay alive. He'd killed three of them and that meant there were only about ten of those bastards standing between them and freedom. He probably wouldn't have to kill them all since Sammy was no slouch at killing when necessary.

He got to his feet, balancing his new burden firmly against his chest. Dean kept his voice to a whisper and said, "Emily, I need you to look at me." He switched the knife to his other hand and tipped up Emily's chin with his fingers. "We're getting out of here, but you have to do what I say, okay?"

Her eyes were raw and swollen from crying and her lip trembled as if she were freezing to death, but she nodded and latched her full attention on him. She was going to believe every word he said, do everything he said, because at this moment, Daddy was God and could do anything. For a split second, he remembered looking at some enormous, God-like man and thinking the same thing. The difference was, now he knew Daddy wasn't God. Daddy had just been a guy trying to figure things out as he went and hiding it pretty damn well behind his God impersonation.

Dean held Emily's face with his hand, trying to do his own best God impersonation. "Good girl. I want you to hold on tight to me and don't let go." She immediately obeyed, fastening her grip more tightly around his neck, clinging to him with the rest of her tiny body. Gently, he pressed her face against his shirt. "Close your eyes and don't look until I tell you it's okay."

He was more than likely going to have to kill his way out of this torture chamber and maybe he could keep some of Emily's little girl sanity intact if she didn't see the slaughter.

The door began to move inward and Dean stepped behind it, raising his knife to strike once again. Long fingers gripped the edge of the doorway and Dean stood down when he recognized Sam's hand.

"Here." Dean whispered the single word and waited for Sam to get into the room and close the door.

"We're still good. These idiots are way too excited about their demon debutante ball to notice their sentries are gone." Sam took a long look at Emily clinging to Dean's chest and rested his hand on her back. Her body jerked as if he'd delivered an electric shock and he withdrew. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know." Dean tightened his grip on Emily. "We gotta get out of here."

"Back the way we came. You first. I got your back."

Sam carefully looked through a crack in the door and motioned Dean forward. Back to back, they made their way down the hallway that led to their escape route. There was a great deal of noisy activity in the main room on the other side of the house and it was serving to cover their escape. They were almost to the middle of the hall when a surprised face greeted them.

The man skidded to a stop at the hall's entrance and had his open mouth silenced as Dean's knife flew through the air and planted itself in his chest. He slammed to the floor, knees making a crack that echoed against the plank walls. He'd used the knife on the off chance that they could still get out without the mob finding them.

The report of Sam's 9mm put that false hope to rest.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

A/N -- For most writers, what happens to your characters is very personal. It's not just because you care about them but because you're inflicting whatever pain they go through with your fingers on the keyboard. This was a tough, tough chapter to write. Hope you'll feel it with all of us.

Firefly – Chapter 26

By Suz Mc

"Sam! This way!" Dean heard Sam fire twice, but his way was still clear and he moved forward toward the basement stairs. He banded his arm more tightly around Emily's body, keeping her still. When Sam didn't respond, he turned to find his brother facing an onslaught of pissed off lunatics.

Two bodies were lying at his feet and he was slashing at another with that messed up Klaww of Death blade he's taken to carrying after years of keeping it put away. It had the benefit of slashing large holes in people. Sam had opened up the man's stomach and was focused on extricating himself when another came around the corner with a shotgun.

"SAM! DROP!"

The battle turned quickly, with no time to curse or take evasive action. Sam obeyed and went to the floor, slinging the eviscerated body into the knees of their new adversary. As the man fell, he fired, sending the blast into the narrow hallway. Dean twisted as he crunched to the floor, putting his back between the bullets and Emily. He was able to avoid the main blast, only to be hit by stray fragments that bit into his shoulder. He'd had worse pain but the comparison didn't stop the burn in his flesh. He looked up from the floor into a face and he unloaded a couple of rounds into it. The body collapsed beside him.

Sam was on his knees, blood splattered on his face and running down his arm. Dean couldn't be sure whose blood at this point. His brother was moving, trying to get down to their end of the hall.

"Come on, Sammy!"

Dean tried to get to his feet, balancing Emily with his good arm, when he caught sight of a fresh new hell coming around the corner and slathering down over Sam's shoulders. A billowing column of demon smoke flooded into the space, roaring over them with a power he hadn't experienced before from a disembodied demon.

The thick black muck that was Amora raged through the house, slapping against everything. Dean's lungs contracted against the putrid smell of sulfur. Blinded by the volumes of smoke, all he could do was clutch Emily closer, trying to keep her with him. At least the bastards who were coming at them were knocked on their asses just like he and Sam. He knew he was back on the floor. He knew Sam's back was pressed against his. He could feel the blood and brain oozing from the corpse beside him and soaking his leg. The gun was still in his hand but it was useless. All of his senses were bleeding together and sounds of the demon roared around them, drowning out everything else.

Suddenly, the blackness began to thin and he was sucking in air. Dean tried to move, tried to climb to his feet, only to be slammed against the wall. He'd felt that pressure before, sucking his body hard against the wood. The warmth against his chest fell away and he mentally grabbed for Emily, but was unable to move to hang onto her. Her fingers were tangled in his shirt and he could feel it tear as Emily clutched her fingers into the fabric. She hung on until someone pried her hands open and dragged her away. The pressure closed his throat and he couldn't even call out to her.

There were other footsteps stomping through the room and as the stinging in his eyes lessened, Dean could make out several new humans wandering through the hall. They were different from the relatively normal looking demon suck ups of Amora's advance team. This was the muscle. All men, most of them taller than Sam, all doing Ninja impressions with black clothing and covered eyes and faces.

"Emily!" Dean called out her name as his throat cleared enough to allow sounds. She couldn't answer. He knew that. But at least she'd know he was still here with her.

"We are so screwed." Sam's voice was a coughing, rough version of his normal sound. "Are you hit?"

Before Dean could answer, he was moving. His back was torn by hundreds of splinters as the demon dragged him against the wooden walls, pulling them both toward the front room of the house. The shotgun pellets burned inside his shoulder, friction from the wood tearing the wounds wider. As they got closer, he could make out the sounds of someone whimpering and sobbing. At first he thought Emily had found her voice and it broke his heart to think that the first sound he'd heard come out of her was crying.

But it wasn't a child's voice. As his head slammed into the doorway between the hall and the main room, Dean made out the sounds of a woman. The blow blurred his vision again and it took a second to focus. She was young, probably college age, with dark hair and olive skin. Tied to a stiff wooden chair, she was begging them to let her go, promising not to tell anyone, trying to stay alive.

Sam was beside him, tacked to the wall and straining in a futile gesture against the demonic vacuum immobilizing both of them. The ridiculous Men in Black filed past them, filling up the room like statues. Amora's vapor form threaded through the men, winding its way into the room until it compacted in front of the terrified woman in the chair. In a brutal show of force, she bunched herself into a hard, thick ball of smoke and forced her way down into the woman's face, penetrating her eyes, nose, and mouth. The gagging choking sounds came out past the smoke until they faded away to nothing.

Dean searched the room for Emily, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. A hard bitch with slicked back hair had his daughter slung over her hip like a sack. Emily's body was slack as the woman carried her to a chair and flung her down hard. There was no fight, no reaction. The little girl landed still, a blank expression on her face. Eyes unfocused, Emily didn't look for Dean, didn't seem to register anything at all. It was a dangerous numbness that signaled her withdrawal from a reality that was too terrifying to fight against.

"Can you move at all?" Dean spoke low to his brother, hoping Sam had some trick up his sleeve to fight this particular monster.

"No. You?"

"No." Dean couldn't take his eyes off Emily's body, slumped in the huge chair. "Look at me, Emily! I'm here!"

"Oh, yes, you are, Dean." The voice purred from Amora's host as she burst bloodied wrists from the ropes binding her to the wooden chair. "What a good Daddy to share this milestone with our baby girl." Amora stretched her arms then stroked her new body, a contented smile on her face. "You know, our children are our future."

"You don't have a future, bitch." Dean pulled against the force pinning him uselessly against the wall as Amora moved to stand in front of him, only inches separating them. He had weapons all over his body. His jacket was stuffed with them. His pocket held a simple silver charm powerful enough to turn this monster to dust. None of which mattered since his body was frozen while the demon bitch moved around free and easy.

"Now, is that the way a hero should talk in front of our little girl's virgin ears?" She looked over her shoulder and blew a kiss toward Emily.

The woman handling Emily was wrapping a wide black ribbon around the child's neck and tying it neatly underneath her hair. Dean felt the bile and anger rising in his chest. It was a vile accessory designed to hold Emily's head attached to her neck after they sliced her open. Deep in shock, the little girl sat still, not flinching or resisting.

"She's mine, you stupid skank! Mine and Calley's, not yours."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, Dean. She's fully and completely mine," she said, strolling over to kneel in front of Emily, who displayed no reaction at all to the monster in front of her. Emily had now stopped seeing as well as speaking in response to the overload of fear.

The demon ran a gentle hand over Emily's hair, smoothing it back from her face. "She's mine because I filled her up with glorious gifts, didn't I, little one?" Amora searched the child's face carefully. "I might have even been too generous with this one."

"Get your fucking hands off my kid, you BITCH!" Dean was trying desperately to draw the demon's attention back to him and away from Emily.

Her hand tightened, yanking the little face up toward the ceiling, then she planted a kiss on her forehead. For a brief second, there was a spark and whiff of smoke that flashed from the point of contact and Amora withdrew, a startled expression flashing over the stolen face she wore. She recovered quickly and released Emily to stare blankly at the floor.

The demon backed away slowly, circling the table that had been fashioned into an altar. She stroked the thick black candles and traced the deep groove gouged into the wood designed to hold the blood that she planned to drain from Emily's body. She paused, jerking her finger from the surface, wincing at a large splinter that had torn into the pad of her index finger. With a decidedly aroused shiver, she pulled it from her hand and sucked the blood into her mouth. "I'd forgotten how delicious that first pain feels," she whispered, almost talking to herself.

"You let me down from this wall and I'll give you all the pain you can handle." Taunting her was his only weapon at the moment, the only way to distract her. "Get rid of these dickless ninja rejects and we'll go at it." All he wanted was to get down from that wall and cram Calley's piece of silver down the bitch's throat.

The demon smiled again, strolling over to stand in front of him once again. She stopped and turned her head sideways as if listening to some faraway sound. "Oh, Dean, you're scaring this meat to death. What's that? Help me? Please don't hurt me? Is that what you're saying, sweetie?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Sound familiar, Dean? A terrified woman begging you not to hurt her?" She was close enough now that he could feel her breath on his neck. "That's what fragile, delicate Calley said to you while you were fucking her brains out."

"You're gonna die."

Her voice faded to a whisper beside his ear. "You made her bleed. You made her cry. And you made that little bitch over there, hero."

"Fuck you."

She raised her hand to his neck, fashioning her host's fingernails into a vicious claw at his throat. Boiling anger took the place of her amusement. "I think I'll let you bleed with her," she said, only to freeze before delivering the blow. She stepped back, analyzing the new sensation. "It seems you have something in your pocket and it's not that you're happy to see me, sugar. Calley's little pain in the ass trinket, no doubt."

"Bloody silver, a girl's best friend," he said, wishing it was in his hand and his hand was cramming down her throat.

"What a freakin' killjoy!" Amora leaned back on the altar, clearly disappointed. "Oh, well, I can't touch you, but you can just hang there all limp while I touch everyone else."

"Stop! Just let me explain!"

A new voice broke the air around them and everyone's attention turned toward the door. Two of Amora's devoted thugs were dragging a worn, bloody woman through the front door. They dumped her onto the floor in front of the demon and backed away.

"Oh happy day! It's my good and faithful servant, Lindsey!" Amora gleefully turned her attention to the woman piled on the floor at her feet. "Dean, you don't mind if I deal with this business first, do you?"

"Be my guest."

Lindsey Deaton. This bitch was on the top of Dean's kill list. His blood was bubbling with rage and he tried in vain to pull himself away from the wall once again. When he thought about Emily trapped for days in a car with Lindsey, emotionally and physically abused by this demon worshipping skank, he wasn't sure who he wanted dead more – Lindsey or her demon girlfriend.

"Thanks so much, Dean." The demon reached down to gently cup Lindsey's face and she brushed away tears with her thumbs. "I'm so glad to see you, Lindsey. You've been working hard, haven't you?" With a rough jerk, she pulled Lindsey to her feet by her face.

"Please don't let her kill me!" The words shivered from Lindsey's mouth and her eyes darted between Sam and Dean, begging for help from the helpless. "Do something, please!" She focused on Sam's familiar face. "You said you could help me! Please!" Lindsey's bloody, bruised face settled on Dean, hoping for sympathy.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going to kill any of these bastards until they're done with you," Dean said, smirking at the doomed woman who was about to get what she deserved.

"You are quite the gentleman, Dean." Amora turned her attention back to the trembling face gripped in her fingers. "Lindsey, we need to have a meeting of the minds."

"I saved her for you, Amora! I got her out of that apartment and kept her safe so you could be free. I did!" Lindsey was pleading her case as she tried to pull away from the demon's unbreakable grip on her face.

"And for that I will be eternally grateful, pet." She stroked Lindsey's face and planted a quick kiss on the terrified woman's forehead. "But there's that business of you doing away with my first tender babe. Remember? The sacrifice you were supposed to breed for me in your lovely womb?"

"I'm sorry."

"These morons opened up Hell for me to make an early escape and what do I find? No bundle to bleed for my freedom. Just you and your excuses. Do you know what your selfishness cost me, Lindsey? Five hundred more years in the pit."

"Please let me serve you. I'll make it up to you."

"Make it up to me? Do you know how I spent my time down below, pet? There's no giving or receiving of pain. I'm not even allowed to hear the screams. I'm untouched. Disembodied. Sealed away in smooth white walls with no pain, no pleasure, not even sight or sound. The all consuming madness was my only companion, leaving me hour after hour to long for release."

"I'm sorry. Please—"

"A different suffering waits for you." With a quick twist, Lindsey's head was turned around to flop loosely on a snapped neck and the demon tossed her into a heap on the floor. Clapping her hands together loudly, she shouted, "Let's get this party started! Get that brat on the table and I'm going to give you all a demonstration of exactly how to slit a throat."

She was maniacal in her happiness, gleefully moving in front of Sam's body and cackling with another woman's voice. "We've got time for some instruction and I'd like you to help out, Sam. Wouldn't want a sloppy cut to prolong our girl's suffering, would we?"

Amora's attention remained fixed on Sam and with one hand hovering in front of his chest, she slid his body down the wall until they were face to face. She pressed her body against his and groaned out loud. "Oh my, Sam Winchester. A man your size, with those obscenely large biceps, with those fabulous hands, you could deliver exactly the brutality I need to treat my bodies the way they deserve."

"Get off me." Sam was able to force his head away from the wall just an inch before the demon slammed it back making a harsh, cracking sound.

Dean was listening to the conversation but his eyes were cemented to the sight of Emily being stretched across what was to be her deathbed. She was limp and yielding, letting them lay her in the center of the table and prop her head on a wooden block. The one connection she made was to fix her dark brown eyes on her father. They were weak and lifeless but he knew she saw him. He tried to smile at her, to give her some kind of affection and comfort.

"I love you, Emily. Don't forget that."

"Oh, Lucifer! I may vomit," Amora said, rolling her eyes and running her hands over Sam's body. "I hear tell that you have a very special blade of interest to my kind, Sam." She shoved her hand between the wall and Sam's back, drawing out the bone handled demon killing knife on his belt.

"Choke on it."

"I'd like for this body to choke on you, baby," she said, grazing the pointed tip of the knife down his belly, tearing a thin, bloody stripe in Sam's shirt, then traveling the blade over his zipper and between his legs.

"Leave him alone!"

"Why, Dean, I think you're jealous." Amora ripped open Sam's shirt and began to draw long red lines to trace the muscles of his abdomen. Sam was biting his lip bloody to hold in the sounds but his face was twisted and sweating with the effort.

"That's right, Sam. Don't give the bitch anything."

"Now, class, it's time for the throat." She laid the blade against his neck, taunting him with gentle traces down the exposed vein that bulged from his pain. Sam's face was solid and defiant, steeling himself for the metal jab that was coming.

Abruptly, Amora stopped, gasping in a sharp bite of air and dropping the knife to the floor. Her face contorted in pain and confusion and one hand clutched to her abdomen. Whirling toward the altar, she fixed her angry glare on Emily.

"Oh no you don't, you little bitch! Not this time!" Before she could move again, a brilliant glow erupted below her chest, flashing with tiny sparks.

Emily was still stretched over the altar, but one hand was cupped at her side as if she held an invisible ball. She moved her hand, shaping pale fingers around air until a stream of light stretched from the demon's body to that tiny hand and back. It formed a nearly transparent sphere of light and fire that floated gently above her palm.

"Her hand! Hold it still! Don't let her throw—"

The handler assigned to Emily made a grab for her hand, only to scream out in pain as the flames lapped up to burn her. Emily flicked her wrist, tossing the ball of fire toward the demon.

Amora was moving, attempting to run toward the door but the swirling ball of flame tracked her movements and connected with her chest. "NO!" A violent scream vibrated through the room and Amora's demon form fled from the burning flesh and blasted furiously throughout the room.

The chain reaction of Amora's flight happened quickly. Dean fell from the wall, with Sam landing beside him, while the fat, vile smoke cycloned around them.

"Emily! Run!" Dean yelled out the command as he jammed one hand into his pocket to grab for the silver charm that could destroy the demon. The smoke was rising, making a hasty, defeated retreat and he threw the metal at the largest part of the cloud. There was a flash of red hot light and the smoke fractured against the ceiling, sending burning fragments of plaster and wood showering over them.

Emily had obeyed. A mix of pride and relief washed through him. She trusted him to enough to break through her fear and obey without hesitating. From the corner of his eye, Dean searched for her among the evil sons of bitches who wanted her dead then lost her as he threw a punch toward the defender in his way. A flash of white crawled from under the table and ran between the legs of another man before he could get his hands on her. Sam's knife suddenly appeared in the man's back and he fell. Dean couldn't get by the warriors in his path but Emily had a chance. She'd sprung to life and fought back and she had a chance.

Two men were on him now. There was no space to draw a weapon. His hands were busy trying to fend off blow after blow. He threw one man onto the altar, flattening him over a candle and treating him to a flaming death.

"Dean! The door!" Sam was thrown into the wall as he yelled, directing Dean's attention to Emily's escape. She was running out the door with that same bitch hot on her tail. He threw another punch into his opponent's jaw as another man followed Emily's escape. He was slower, weighed down by the noxious book he was attempting to save from the bloody battle scene.

The bank of large windows gave Dean a panoramic view of Emily's flight while he fought. The man chasing her had fallen out of his field of vision, leaving only the stark raving mad woman following the little girl across the yard. Emily ran like a terrified rabbit, flying toward the trees.

_Get to the trees, baby. _He tried to send that message to her as he cracked a chair against his opponent's face only to have his legs kicked out from underneath him. If Emily could get to the cover of the trees, she could hide. If she could hide, she could stay alive. If she could stay alive, he could find her. _Get to trees, baby. I'm coming._

Sam was on his feet, blasting a bloody hole into the last man standing between him and the backdoor. Dean was still tangled in battle.

"Go, Sam! Get to her!" He threw another punch as he got to his knees and wrapped his free hand around the demon blade protruding from a corpse's chest. Sam would obey, just like Emily did. He'd promised and he would.

Sam was gone from the room and Dean turned one eye out the window, hoping to see his brother come around the corner and bust a cap into the bitch coming after his daughter. But he didn't show. There must have been one more bastard in his way.

The last warrior launched himself toward Dean and he shoved the blade upward into the man's guts. From the edge of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Emily stumbling and falling in a heap on the ground.

_Get up, kid!_

She tried to rise but she was too late. The infuriated woman was on her, scooping Emily up into her arms and making a break for it across the dirt. Dean strained to push the hulking dead body off of him so he could get to the door. He hit the porch, vaulting over the railing and into the yard. Sam was just rounding the corner when his boots hit the dirt. Off to the side, he registered the broken body of the second thug who had trailed after Emily. He lay in a twisted pile thrown beside the side of the house, his neck snapped and eyes frozen open in death.

The woman was half a football field away by the time Dean saw her and started running. She stood on the opposite side of her car, slamming the back driver's side door closed in a panic.

"Stop, you bitch, or you're dead!" He yelled across the yard but she didn't stop. She jumped behind the wheel and fired the silver rental car to life. He couldn't match horsepower with the car on foot and she'd be out of the drive and on the highway in seconds.

Squaring up his stance, Dean leveled his weapon, setting up a shot toward the moving car.

"Tires, Sam!" He heard Sam skid to a stop just behind his shoulder. The barrel of Sam's gun flashed in the moonlight as he settled and took aim.

In the second Dean tensed to squeeze the trigger, an odd pop broke the brittle silence around then. It wasn't Sam's weapon or his. The vehicle paused, screeching to a halt in reverse, engine sounds ceasing.

The sound of an explosion shattered the night, followed by a savage fireball bursting from beneath the engine. The hood flipped into the air like some enormous coin toss. Flames invaded the car's interior, leaving no space untouched and bursting glass from every window.

The nauseating smell of burning flesh penetrated every molecule of air around Dean as he raced toward the burning vehicle, scanning the landscape, hoping to see Emily's body thrown free from the explosion. The horror of it turned his perception to slow motion. He wasn't moving fast enough. There could be a pocket of safety inside that inferno. He could get there and pull her out. One part of his mind was making this possibility real, demanding that the laws of fire and air change to save Emily's life. She wasn't on the ground, wasn't anywhere but inside that burning red nightmare.

Dean could hear himself yelling, calling Emily's name so she would know he was coming for her. The sounds scraped against his throat, burning as the boiling hot air flooded into his lungs. He was almost there, close enough to feel the flames singe his skin.

Then he was on the ground. Someone had tackled him, rolling him over the ground, stopping him from getting to his daughter. He fought, kicking and struggling to get away from long arms holding him back. Sam's voice was breaking through in muffled waves, telling him to stop, telling him she was gone, saying it was suicide. Stop, damnit. Stop.

Fire. It was gobbling up Emily. The fire that had stolen his mother. Hungry. Unforgiving. Unmerciful fire.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

Firefly – Chapter 27

By Suz Mc

Dean's entire body fought against Sam's grip as he held on tightly to his brother's legs to keep him from launching himself into the burning wreck. An inferno engulfed the car, snuffing out any chance of survival for anyone inside. His brother's hoarse screams had deteriorated from words to gut twisting sounds that made no sense. Both of them struggled in the dirt, one trying to join a death and the other trying to stop one.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch! Let me go!"

Dean kicked Sam in the chest with his boot, breaking free. He scrambled to his knees only to be flattened back to the ground by another fiery explosion as the flames hit the gas tank. The bright red and yellow flames rolled throughout the metal wreckage, turning midnight into noon.

Sam sat back, bracing himself against the ground with both hands. In the glow of Emily's death pyre, his brother lay face down in the dirt, hammering the earth with his fists. Behind them was a building full of corpses, a body count that was pointless because the one body that should still be among the living was inside that burning car. Dean had vanquished a demon, slaughtered more warriors than could possibly be believed, only to lose his child to a fanatical human being in a fire. His life had come full circle, fire once again destroying any chance he had for happiness, normalcy, and relative sanity.

The entire world had fallen silent except for the crackling fire and Dean's raging sobs. Sam forced himself to his knees and fumbled his way to his brother. His vision was blurred from the smoke and tears and he saw Dean as a hazy shape annihilated on the ground. There was no point in trying to force him to get up, no hope of comforting him. Sam sat down heavy on the ground, putting one hand on his brother's back to at least share the pain with him.

The world was still here. The air, the earth, the stars overhead. But Emily was gone and Dean was going to want to go with her. She'd been his hope for a life he'd given up on ever having, a reason to try to grow old instead of going out in a blaze of glory. Now she was gone and Sam tightened his grip on Dean's back in an attempt to keep him connected to life.

Blood was still oozing from the wounds in Dean's shoulder and Sam turned his attention away from the life he couldn't save to the one he could. Reaching down, he grabbed his shirttail, searching for a relatively clean strip to rip into a bandage and stop the bleeding. His hands were shaking and the operation of destroying his shirt was taking a great deal more effort than he thought it would. Sam turned sideways to get a better grip. Dean had fallen still beside him, slipping into shocked silent grief.

The oppressive heat coming from the burning vehicle stung against Sam's face and he turned away toward the trees into a suddenly cool breeze. It washed over him, drying his wet face. He stayed facing in the direction of that wind, the direction he would have to haul Dean to get back to the Impala if he could ever get him on his feet again. Sam was trying to remember the exact path they took coming in when something caught his eye in the trees.

A light was glowing from behind the trunk of a large tree, about half the distance to where the car was stashed on the other side of the property. It hadn't been there when he started looking in that direction and now it was. It grew brighter as he watched. He jerked Dean's jacket pocket from under his body, and scrambled to get his hands on the binoculars.

Sam yanked the binoculars up to his face, focusing on the now glittering light coming from the forest. Down low near the base of a tree was what appeared to be the tan sleeve of a man's coat. The arm was bent as if holding something. A long length of brown curly hair draped over the fabric and it waved in the breeze that blew through the night.

"Dean! Get up!" Adrenaline shot through Sam's body and he grabbed Dean by his sleeve to force him onto his side.

"Don't!" Dean shook off Sam's grasp and dropped his face back to the ground. One arm was folded under his cheek and he kept his face turned toward the fire as if it was the only way he could still be close to Emily.

"I don't think she's in the car, Dean. Get up and look," Sam called out, getting to his feet.

At this point, Dean was beyond hearing so he had to show him. Looping both arms under his brother's shoulders, Sam heaved him up to his knees. "Look out in the trees, Dean. Damn it! Look!"

He had to grab Dean's face in one hand and hold the binoculars up to his eyes with the other. "See, Dean? That's Emily's hair, isn't it? Somebody's out there behind that tree and Emily's there with him."

Dean stared toward the light, frozen and processing the scene and slowly peeling away his shock and disbelief. It took a few seconds for the reality of what he was seeing through the glass to sink in. When it did, Dean was on his feet, .45 in hand, cutting a path through the trees. He didn't speak, as if he couldn't stand to give voice to the hope as he made a grab for it. Sam followed, silently obeying Dean's hand signals to circle around to the left and box in whoever was on the other side of the trees.

Sam was about a half-second behind Dean in getting to the trees and the glowing light. He watched Dean's face, hard and angry, as he pounded into the clearing. His gun was held in one hand, pointed unmercifully at the target.

"Let her go, you son of a bitch, before I blow your fucking head off!"

Sam moved faster, trying to cover any escape attempt or take out another freak they might have missed from the house. He was thrown off balance when Dean's furious demeanor fell away into a stunned gaping silence.

"Dad?" Dean said the word in a shaking gasp.

The figure of John Winchester didn't speak. He only put one finger to his lips and said, "Shhhhh…"

Dean stood frozen, gasping for air. He lowered the gun a fraction, and then raised it again. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but put her down and back away."

The form that looked like Dad didn't react to Dean's orders and he sure as hell didn't react like John Winchester. He sat quietly, almost serene in his posture. One leg was thrown out in front of him and the other was propped up to hold Emily up against his chest. He was holding her gently with her head cradled in the crook of one arm while the other held her bare feet off the leaves and forest litter scattered around the base of the tree. Emily's face was resting on the worn cloth jacket he was wearing, a slight pout on her lips as she slept soundly next to his heart.

"I told her we'd wait out here where it was safe until her daddy came to find her," he said, looking down at Emily, smiling. That in itself was strange; almost as strange as their years dead father sitting in front of them. Sam rarely saw John Winchester's expression hold a smile for more than a second or two. This Dad, or whoever this was, had been smiling like some Cliff Huxtable wannabe since they'd found him.

"Dean, what do you wanna do here?" Sam held his weapon steady, not willing to be tricked into the notion that this was actually John Winchester.

Dean's face was still wet and dirty from his breakdown in front of the exploding car and he was staring a hole directly through the body that looked like their dad. Slowly, he walked forward, jaw tightened against the onslaught of emotions he was dealing with. "Did they send you to take her?" he said, another tear running down his face.

Immediately, Sam realized what Dean was thinking and he felt his own heart constrict at the thought that this John Winchester look alike was really a reaper sent to collect Emily's soul. He stepped a little closer. The soft glowing light reached out to fill the clearing, enveloping all of them.

"No, son," the man said, that odd, warm smile breaking wider across his face. "She's just asleep. I thought it would be best for her to sleep until you got her away from this nightmare." He paused, waiting for Dean's hope to fill up the hole that watching the car explode had dug into his chest. "If you'll put that weapon away, you can come over here and take her. You don't want to hold her while your hand is shaking and you're holding a loaded gun." The man looked over at Sam. "Sammy's still deciding if I'm the real deal. He's got me covered."

In a motion that belied bones and joints, the big man stood, instantly going from reclining on the ground to standing upright. Emily remained undisturbed and snuggled tightly against his body. One handed, he slid his large fingers behind the little girl's neck and untied the black ribbon, letting it fall to the ground. Her skin was red where the band had rubbed against her throat and he brushed fingertips over it as if trying to soothe her.

Dean let go, falling fully into the idea that Emily was truly alive and being held by the one and only John Winchester. He jammed the pistol into his belt and moved in to risk touching his fantasy. He wiped dirty hands on his jeans and ran one palm over his face. When he put his hand on her head, all of the pent up pain and sorrow rushed out, drawing a hard catching sound from his chest.

"Is she okay? Is she hurt?" He took her into his arms, rocking her slowly and kissing her forehead. She stayed sound asleep, but wriggled up beside his neck, a satisfied smile taking over the pout.

John put one hand on Emily's head and another on Dean's shoulder. "The wound on her arm is busted up, she's got a little bump on her head, and a couple of scrapes from running through the brush but that's it. She'll be fine. When she wakes up, she won't remember today. I wish I could take away more, but it's the best I can do."

"You can really do that? Make her forget today and what happened?" Dean was holding his face close to hers, taking in every breath she made.

"Like I said, today I can. She's going to be fine. She's got her dad."

Dean kept his eyes on Emily's face, as if he thought she could turn into dust at any second. "Are you sure she's okay? When I got there, this bastard was alone with her and he was going to hurt her. He was--"

"You got there in time." John stroked Emily's hair, and laughed. "She's fast, this one. After she bit a plug out of that bitch's arm and got away, I really had to pour on the juice to catch up to her. When I did, she came right to me, like she knew who I was."

"I showed her your picture," Sam said, lowering his weapon slightly.

"You did? That must be it then," John said, happiness still weirdly decorating his face.

There were cards that had to be laid out on the table and Dean was too off balance after watching what he thought was Emily's scorching death then getting her back in the space of a few minutes to pin down the hard facts. It was odd to see him this way. Dean was the skeptic, the one who demanded to be shown the truth. Sam had to take that role now for all of their sakes.

"How can you be here, Dad?" Sam lowered the weapon more, realizing he'd just called this person, or thing, or whatever it was "Dad."

"Your brother asked for help, Sammy. There was quite a line, but I was able to push my way to the front of it." He raised his eyebrow as if congratulating himself. "Just reminded them I had special skills."

"The broken neck and the exploding rental car? That was you?"

That got the true John Winchester I'm-proud-to-be-a-badass grin. "I may be dead, but I'm still me."

Sam dropped his weapon and laughed out loud. "It's him, Dean."

"You heard me?" Dean was finally putting himself full on into this reality where Emily was alive and safe in his arms and his dad was standing in front of him. "So what? Now you're an angel?"

"God, no!" John almost sounded offended.

"Holding out for the top job, Dad?" Sam couldn't help but poke at his father. The entire situation was surreal, almost silly.

"Look, boys, I'm still figuring out how all this works. I can't just jump down here when I want. This will probably be the only time. It's complicated." John was holding Emily's hand lightly with only a couple of his fingers. "She's beautiful, Dean. A granddaughter. Wow." He kissed the little fingers and laughed. "Payback is going to be a bitch for you, boy."

"Dad, I don't know what I'm doing." Dean's voice had lost the grown man quality and he'd faded back to his secondary spot next to Dad.

John moved his hand from Dean's shoulder to his face and looked at him for what seemed like a very long time. He still had Emily's fingers resting on his own and had created this intimate, private loop between the three of them. With his voice low and rough with emotion, he said, "You're going to be a much better father than you had, Son."

John changed his focus to Sam and the look from his father disassembled the armor he'd spent years building up to protect himself from Dad's never ending disappointed onslaughts. "The first kid you raised turned out pretty good."

"Dad, I've got things I need to tell you, things I need to ask you." Dean was holding on to John's sleeve, trying to keep him from disappearing.

He didn't wait for Dean to voice the unspoken questions that had kept him up at night for years. "Dean, you don't need to tell me or ask me anything. Hell is long gone for you, Son, for both of us. What happened with Calley is in the past. You have more important business here in the now where none of that other stuff matters."

"You know about Calley?"

"I do." John shifted his tone a bit, like he knew he had to firm up his approach to get Dean to trust what he was saying. "It's time for you to go home."

"Home?"

"Yeah, home, Dean."

"You mean Lawrence, don't you?"

"Yep. Home. What should have always been home."

"Well, Dad, someone kinda lives in 'home' and she wouldn't be too keen on boarders."

"Go to Samuel's place. You've been there before," John said, a small huff of laughter breaking from his chest before he added, "Dean Van Halen. You do get around, boy." He looked down at Emily, as if he was memorizing her face. "Go back to Samuel's, to Lawrence."

"Why?"

"There might be some solutions for you there. Your mom couldn't face that place but maybe you can."

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"What would be the fun in that?"

"Yep, he's definitely Dad." Sam jumped into the conversation. At least one thing was constant about his dad -- no information was going to be given away freely.

John's new smile faded away slightly. "I need to take care of one more thing before I go." He took Emily's wounded arm and reached to unwind the gauze.

"Wait!" Dean stopped him with a sharp word then quieted his tone as Emily stirred against him. "You can't do that. It hurts her."

"Dean, I won't hurt her. I promise." Slowly, he began to unwrap the bloody bandage, paying careful attention to his movements and hers. "That mark on your arm reminds you that there are things greater than yourself and dealing with the dark side is a bad idea." When he'd exposed the bloody, torn burn, he paused, holding Emily's arm in his large hand.

"Damn."

He whispered the curse, not able to cover the anger that flashed over his face. Someone had squeezed and twisted the burn until even the healed portions had broken open again. "Hurting her was an easy way to control her. Fucking cowards." He calmed his voice and took in a deep breath as if preparing for something. "This only serves to give Emily pain and keep her fear alive. It's just another burden when this baby girl already has a full load. It also makes her too easy to find if Amora isn't gone for good."

That perked Dean's senses into red alert. "You think the icon didn't destroy her?"

"I'm not sure, Dean. We'll just have to wait and see." Turning his focus back to the child's arm, he leaned close to the wound and began to blow his breath softly over Emily's skin. The gruesome scar, the blood, and the crusted torn flesh disintegrated into dust that glittered off into the breeze. As they watched, John's breath forced the wound from Emily's arm, sending it off into the air and leaving only fresh, pale skin where the angry melted flesh had been.

Dean watched, stunned at the miracle his father's breath had just performed. "What the hell?!"

"Holy shit, Dad. You can really do that?" Sam watched as his father, the father who shunned all things not normal and human, used actual supernatural powers to heal his granddaughter.

"Looks like it," John said, planting a kiss on Emily's newly repaired arm. "At least I can today. Don't know about tomorrow. Like I said, it's complicated." He straightened and got that full, happy smile on his face once again. Taking a step away from Dean, he said, "I have to go."

"Wait, you just got here!" Dean moved to reach out to his father but he'd already moved on to stand in front of his younger son.

Being the sole focus of John Winchester was always a bit scary for Sam, even without Dad's new magic tricks and smiley face. Those happy moments of being close to his father had been crushed under harsh words and arguments. Even when his dad had crawled out of Hell through an open door, Sam had only rated a quick nod and a smile. Dean always seemed to need the attention more, like it was his water and air. Sam had learned to live without it long before leaving his father's authority. He'd prided himself in not needing anything from the larger than life John Winchester.

But it was a lie and he knew it. He wanted his father to look at him, to want to talk to him and acknowledge him, to give a damn if HE was okay. When he felt Dad's hands on his neck, it was strange and startling and he wasn't sure how to react.

"Sammy, you've done good, son. I'm so proud of you."

"Dad, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. I've always told your brother to look out for you. Now, I'm leaving those two with you, Sammy. They're both going to need help that only you can give them and I know that you'll do what's right for them." When the hug wrapped around him, it was odd and he resisted at first but John held on, not letting Sam pull away or make light of the moment. It felt better than Sam thought it could feel, to be accepted by his father, entrusted with the protector role over Dean for once, to be loved just for being Sam.

Sam returned the embrace. "Don't worry, Dad. I've got it covered."

"I know you do. You're an amazing kid – I mean, you're a good man." John squeezed him in more tightly as the sensation of holding changed. The "I love you, Son," breezed into Sam's ear, the touch turned to mist, and Dad was gone.

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

Firefly – Chapter 28

By: Suz Mc

Sam was driving and Dean was stretched out in the backseat with Emily clutched to his chest. It was going to be a very long time before he was willing to let his child out of his arms or out of his sight. An exhausted silence had taken both of them over after Dad had evaporated from the clearing. There was too much to say, too much to think and work through when you'd had the shit scared and kicked out of you.

Dean had practically fled to the car once Dad was gone, as if he needed to set up some sort of fortress to protect Emily. He'd gotten into the backseat with her, left his nickel plated .45 on the seat beside him, and locked the doors. Sam did recon in the farm house, retrieving blades and guns and wiping away prints. Amora's demon play book was missing and he had a sneaking suspicion it was roasting inside the still smoldering wreck in the front yard. He'd found Calley's silver charm on the floor and it was carefully stored in his pocket. He hoped that wherever Calley Rail's soul was residing, she knew her daughter was safe. She deserved that much.

He'd thought about Calley, Jess, and his own mother as he scattered salt over the empty hulls of dead people. Fire always did that to him. Made him think about senseless death and finality. He tipped over one of the black bastard candles still burning on the altar on his way out, leaving cops and firemen to sort out the remnants of the bloodbath later.

As Sam had walked back through the trees, he thought Calley might be watching and he hoped she was. Maybe Dad was delivering some kind of report to her, if it worked that way. Maybe she was watching all the bastards who tried to hurt Emily burn and she could rest easy because her child was okay.

At the moment, Emily was as safe as if she were bathed in holy water and sleeping in Bobby Singer's personal panic room.

All Dean had said as he unlocked the doors and let Sam inside was, "One state over then stop." There wasn't going to be any discussion of what had happened, not tonight. Dean was going to revolve around Emily and block out anything else. The shockwaves of what he'd gone through in front of that exploding car couldn't be completely wiped away by getting Emily back. He loved her. She was part of him, body and soul now, and he'd experienced her death. He'd done that over and over with too many people he loved and he wasn't about to ever go through that again with his child.

They'd been driving for several hours and the sun would be coming up soon. Dean still had the privacy of darkness in the backseat and Sam thought maybe his brother had fallen asleep with Emily. God, he needed it. But, the moonlight caught Dean's face once when Sam looked in the rearview mirror and he was most definitely not asleep. For that second, Dean's face filled up the glass. His brow was lined and tense and his lower lip was held tight by his teeth to hold it still. He wasn't moving or making a sound but long streams of tears were running down his face. Emily's head was high enough on his chest so that his cheek was resting on her hair. He had snuggled her body inside his jacket, wrapping her up so that she was as close as he could get her.

Sam started to say something. He wanted to tell Dean not to worry about the things they'd seen. He wanted to tell Dean that Emily was going to be fine and maybe all this would go away now that Amora was gone. He wanted to tell Dean that he was a fantastic father or tell him anything to get that exhausted, pained look off his face because Dean Winchester crying was just too disturbing to deal with.

But Sam looked away from the mirror and kept his mouth shut while the car hummed down the highway so that Dean could pretend his little brother hadn't seen him have an emotional overload in the backseat on a night when they'd all just barely dodged a fatal bullet.

****

"Did you tell that bitch when we were coming, Drake?"

"No, I didn't, Lonnie."

The rusty pickup truck bounced through muddy potholes that pocked Marie Lavier's yard. The weight of ten black dog bodies kept the rough ride from rattling their teeth out but it was unpleasant at best. Drake pulled his weapon from under the seat when he caught sight of the thin wrinkled woman with skin the color of dirty burlap sitting beside a pile of burning wood. She hadn't looked away from the flames once since they came onto her property. She simply sat still, picking up tiny fragments of something from her lap and tossing them into the fire.

Lonnie looked over nervously at his partner when Drake slid his pistol into his belt and pulled his shirt down over the bulge. "What's up, man? Do we have a problem?" Lonnie pulled his own gun and checked the chamber just to be safe. "You're not planning on stiffin' this bitch are you? That ain't smart."

Drake was smarter than some shifty Hoo Doo hag and he knew when something felt wrong. He'd had a good run the past couple of days. Got the whole black dog pack. Fucked over Dean Winchester and his freaky bastard kid. He wasn't about to get run over by some old lady trying to spook him into lowering his price.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm just being careful." Drake bounced the pickup to a stop a few feet away from Marie's lawn chair, close enough to the fire so she could see the black dog bodies in the bed. He got out of the truck and walked purposefully over to the old lady. "It's been a long time, Marie. Got you the whole pack, all body parts intact, just like you said."

"You be a thorough man, through and through," the old woman cackled, slapping her leg in excitement. "I knew you be the man to get Ole Marie the sho'nuff article." Marie rose slowly from her chair, bones creaking with age. She stood one angle at a time, pushing up with her hands and straightening her thin cotton dress. Slowly, Marie navigated the ten feet between her bonfire and the stinking black dog bodies leaking inside black body bags in Drake's truck bed.

Drake fished a long neck bottle from the ice chest the old woman was using for a footrest and twisted off the top. "Marie, we're in a hurry. You mind just getting our money?"

She didn't respond, but zippered open one of the bags and fished out the tail of one of the powerful dead animals. With two fingers, she pinched the hairs on the tip of the tail and gave a quick tug. As if smelling a rose, Marie lifted the fur to her nose and inhaled deeply.

"Praise be, Child, you have done brought Marie one kick ass pile o' black dog magic!" She tucked the fur in her pocket and returned to the fire. "Now, I couldn't sleep one bit tonight if I didn't feed you boys up right and proper. Been cooking all day for my grandbabies and there's plenty. Sit right down here and after you two boys have full bellies, I'll give you your due and you can be on your way."

Lonnie was already reaching for the bowl Marie was filling for him out of a pot by the fire.

"No time. Just get our money and we'll go." Drake watched as Lonnie started stuffing his face with gumbo. It annoyed the crap out of him for Lonnie to screw up his night. All he wanted was his fucking money and then they could head to New Orleans for some ass and a good bed.

Marie's hand was shaking with age as she held out a bowl toward him and smiled a broken slit of a grin at him. "Now, boy, those New Orleans ho's gonna still be there waiting for you and a full belly give you mo' stamina," she said, handing over the bowl. "You ask me nice, Ole Marie give you some of her own special magic make you go on and on with the ladies. They be standin' in line to love you off Bourbon Street."

Drake took the bowl and held it until Marie sat down with her own and started to eat. Christ. He wasn't getting out of here until he ate this bitch's food and Lonnie was already slopped down in a chair stuffing his face so Drake relented. With a mouth full, he said, "Don't need your help in that department, Marie. Never had a complaint."

"I bet you haven't."

They sat silently for a time, the fire popping in the heavy bayou night. Burning wood couldn't quite cover the nauseating odor permeating the air around them. He'd done business with the old lady before, bringing her other noxious supplies, and she always rattled on like the crazy old bitch so it was best to humor her. Pissing off Hoo Doo hags was not a good idea. He relaxed a bit back into his chair. She was going to talk for a while and they'd drink her beer then she'd pay, just like always.

"What's been going on down here in the swamp, Marie? You must have something big brewing to need all these dogs." He took another draw from his beer and settled into eating. Marie might be a crazy bitch, but her food was good.

"Oh, I gonna be real popular with the spells I can work with these precious boys all dried up and taken apart. People be coming here for all the love and hate workin's they need. Ole Marie gonna have to get herself one of those number rolls what they got at the bakery. Always somebody doin' wrong what need to be righted or righted what need to be wronged."

"And you oblige for the right price, huh, ole girl?" One more bite and his bowl was empty. Drake looked over at Lonnie as he tossed his Styrofoam bowl onto the fire, watching it burn like he was hypnotized. Lonnie wasn't too bright.

"Well, a girl's gotta eat and have a pretty thing or two, Drake, but sometimes I works my magic just cuz something needs doing. That keeps me right with the man upstairs and keeps the down belows at bay."

He couldn't help the laugh that burst out of his stomach. "You believe in God and the Devil, Marie? You're sure looking down both barrels, aren't you?"

Marie poked at the fire with a stick and studied the flames. "Man up above and man down below tumbling around in one big ball that just roll around this earth. You best keep an eye out or that fat wad o' good and evil roll right over you." She laughed rough and loud. "That reminds me of a brand new story what you ain't never heard but you boys might find mighty interesting."

Holy crap. A story. Even the whores would be sound asleep by the time they got away from here. Drake pulled out the last drop of beer in his bottle and kept silent on the off chance the old bag would move this along. Marie grabbed another beer for him and tossed it gently into his hands then gave one to Lonnie.

"Few years back, this young man come to see ole Marie trying to save somebody he love from some damnation he done got wrapped up in. That boy so desperate it be running out his body like sweat. Much as I tried, couldn't do one thing to help that po' sad child and he went off into the night all heartsick and sorry." She got up and started walking around the flames, moving a bit more easily than before she'd finished her last beer. "Lost track of that boy, but a good old friend of mine call me and I find out the brother of that sweet, sad boy done got yanked right out of the Pit itself by the Almighty. These boys took on Ole Scratch hisself and won! Ain't that just some shit, Drake?"

Drake moved to go for the gun that was still resting behind his back, only to find his hands limp and slack in his lap. His spine was a solid, unmoving rod and his feet felt like lead fastened to the dirt. Even sound wouldn't move from his throat. Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Lonnie was silent, too. Son of a bitch.

The woman laughed up toward the moon in a hoarse howl. "You done found out Ole Marie's got more tricks than you thought, huh, boy? Don't you fret. You gonna be movin' soon enough. Jus' perk up yo' ears and listen so you understand jus' why you here all solid and still." No longer disguising her work, Marie pulled the black dog's hairs she'd stashed in her pocket, kissed the strands, and blew them into the flames, all the time whispering over the burning mass of cypress and moss. "Where was I? Oh, that's right. These boys out fightin' and protectin' all over the place, trying to set things right between what good and what evil in this world, while that raised from the dead boy trying to get his own shit together, which ain't one easy t'ing, mind you. Not but a few days ago, that boy find out that he be blessed with a beautiful little child he ain't never knowed and he as happy as a dog in the sun. But that sweet baby girl got a handmaiden of Ole Scratch right on her tail, she did. Poor child. That demon done killed her mama and her daddy doing everything he can to keep that baby safe."

Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Drake could feel the sweat pouring out of his chest as his muscles began to contract deep inside his stomach. The pressure sent blood rushing to his head, to his ears, erupting in pain inside his skull.

"He doin' a pretty good job until some low life, cock suckin', no count, ass wipe set that demon's people on him and that baby girl." Marie strolled over in front of Drake and Lonnie, leaning over to take a look at the drops of blood beginning to ooze from their noses. "That sorry gentleman be you, Drake. And I bet you weren't even sorry one bit, until right this very minute."

Lonnie managed a pitiful grunt that bubbled in his throat and earned a thump on the head from the old lady.

"But Marie's old cheri Robert done told me not thirty minutes ago that little girl child and her daddy is just fine and dandy. Made me think of my own precious grandbaby girls and what I do if somebody try to get their little blood spilt. I think I likes the idea of being able to help that boy now by sending you packin'. Couldn't help him last time around but I sho' helpin' him out this time, ain't I true?!"

He felt like his eyes were being burned from his skull as blood bubbled through his sockets. Ears. Nose. Mouth. All full of the stinging metal taste of his own blood. Marie's scratchy voice was ringing around him as she combined her storytelling with oddly phrased chants that made the pain intensify with every word.

Fucking bitch. Fucking Dean Winchester. Fucking hope you die.

"Now I speck you two will be more comfortable on the ground for this next part."

Drake saw Lonnie's chair tumble to the ground in front of the fire then felt Marie's foot dig into his own back and dump him onto the dirt. The old woman seemed to dance around them, mumbling and smiling as she worked her magic. All there was to feel was agony as his diaphragm contracted violently, sending a lava-like rush of blood and tissue erupting from his mouth onto the ground in front of him. Lonnie was heaving out his own insides beside him and there wasn't a fucking thing they could do about it.

"The ball is rollin' right over you, boys. Feel it? All you done comin' right back at you. I told you. The Big Man Up Above and the Bad Man Down Below always get their due. Ain't no runnin' from it."

At first, he felt was a soft sprinkling settling over his tortured body that felt like rain, then he felt the sting of salt pelting him harder and harder. The bitch wasn't even waiting for them to die before she started the salt and burn. Son of a bitch. He was blind now. The pain and blood smoked out his senses until there was nothing left. As the blackness took him, Drake felt the lick of flames against his skin and hands grabbing at his flesh.

***

The benefit of checking into hotels at four a.m. when you're beat to hell, filthy, and carrying an unconscious four year old is that nobody freaking cares. Dean watched Sam walk back toward the car, card key in hand, so he gathered Emily more tightly in his arms and slid out of the backseat. She hadn't moved in hours and she wasn't moving now, except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing and he'd spent the past few hours with one hand resting on her chest to be able to feel that breathing.

The room was cool and dark and Dean left it that way, finding the bed by the dim neon glow coming in through the window. Sam didn't talk, just pulled everything out of the car and piled it on the floor between the beds. Sam's eyes were slits and if his brother didn't crash soon he'd be picking his lanky ass off the floor.

"Hand me her bag then go to sleep, zombie boy."

She was still dead to the world when Dean stretched her out on the bed. Fishing around in her pink suitcase, he found one of the princess nightgowns and finagled her little body out of the white gown those monsters had dressed her in. She was so tiny his hand spanned her entire back and held her still as he slipped her own gown over her head. He tossed the last remnant of their nightmare into the corner so he could burn it later. There wasn't going to be one piece of evidence left when Emily woke up.

Sam had flopped into the other bed, bloody clothes and all, and was already snoring. Emily was snuggled against the pillow and he covered her little body with the princess blanket she liked so much. Dean poured a thick salt barrier at the door and on the window sill then joined her on the bed. They were like refugees who crossed the border into safety and collapsed in the first tent that would accept them. Dirty. Wounded. Brain blitzed and exhausted but unable to give up the battleground mindset.

Dirt and blood would come off later. Slowly, he eased Emily closer to him and kept his hand pressed against her little stomach. He had to shut off his freak out to sleep and the only way he could manage that was to keep his hand on her to be sure she didn't slip away like she almost had tonight.

Damn. He was trying to shut off his brain and go to sleep but Dad wouldn't get his face out of his head. He was rolling around there with his new smiling face saying, "See how this feels?" He thought he'd felt the worst train wreck agony possible when he'd sat by Sammy's corpse, watching him cold and dead on a soggy mattress. When he'd watched his Dad's body stuffed full of needles and shocked over and over until they gave up and let him die. This was different. With your own kid, it was different. That pain smashed and destroyed you and made you dead, too.

_Happy now, Dad? I get it. _

He leaned over to kiss her cheek once more. Maybe he could just hold onto her in this motel room until she was thirty and never let her out of his sight and she'd be safe. Maybe he could just follow her around like some stalker shadow everywhere she went until he died and then she'd be safe. Maybe all of a sudden life would turn into a friggin' Disney movie and they'd live happily ever after with no demons or monsters or freaky supernatural fire power being carried around in the hands of a silent pre-schooler.

When they woke up, he could handle all the loose ends, all the details. Every other problem didn't mean shit now. Emily was alive. Amora was gone for now, even if not forever. They had options now.

The first option was to fade to black in this quiet room with his kid living and breathing next to him. Best idea he'd heard in days.

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

Firefly – Chapter 29

By: Suz Mc

Sam had just finished the best shower of his lifetime. Or, at least one that was right up there in the top five. It was five o'clock in the afternoon and his internal clock was just starting to reset itself after being up for almost forty-eight hours straight. He wasn't caught up on sleep by a long shot, but at least he wasn't a "zombie boy" like Dean had called him last night.

He poured antiseptic over the cuts on his stomach and the sting burned away the relaxed buzz that great hot shower had given him. Wide awake now, he popped on a butterfly here and there, bandaged himself, and got dressed. His clothes from the night before were a filthy mess and he rolled them into a ball to save for the next laundry opportunity.

Cautiously, he cracked open the door to find the rest of his family still passed out in a heap on the other bed. The contrast between them would be frightening to anyone who didn't know them. A stranger would think Dean was some wild transient who'd snatched the little girl from her suburban bedroom. Emily was a soft, gentle little thing wrapped up in a Cinderella blanket. Dean was dirty and bloody from the battle to save her life, holding onto her with one rough arm. Anyone who didn't know them would never imagine that they fit together, but they did.

Knowing that Dean would want to get moving, Sam leaned over quietly, knowing better than to touch him after he'd spent hours swinging away at enemies. "Dude, wake up. It's your turn for the shower."

Dean's eyes opened slowly at first, then popped wide, assessing and evaluating before remembering where he was. He checked on Emily, pulling her hair back to look at her face. He felt her forehead and leaned his face close to check her breathing.

"You look like hell, go take a shower and clean up. When she wakes up you'll scare the crap out her looking like that. We need to check your shoulder when you get out. Should have done that when we got here." Sam settled in a chair and propped his feet up on the edge of the bed.

Still looking down at his daughter, Dean said, "So you think you're the boss of me?"

"According to Dad, now I am."

Dean slid off the bed, careful not to disturb Emily, and pushed a pillow against her back to take his place. "That'll be the day."

"Yeah, whatever. Go get in the shower, you reek."

Dean stretched his arms wide, trying to cover the wince of pain from moving his wound. "Stay with her while I'm in the shower. Don't go outside or anything."

"No, Dean, I thought I'd trip off to the mall." He reached over to grab his phone and started searching for Bobby's number. "Of course I'm not going anywhere."

"No, really," Dean said, reaching over to cover Emily's exposed foot with her blanket, "sit over there with her so she won't be scared if she opens her eyes. I don't want her to think she's alone."

Being alone was Dean's major weak spot and he didn't want Emily to feel it. "Sure," Sam said, moving his chair right beside Emily's side of the bed.

Dean was still hesitating, wandering between the bed and the bathroom. "She's been out a long time. Do you think she's okay?"

"I think it's the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep she's gotten in a couple of weeks. She probably needs it, Dean."

"You don't think maybe Dad over did it, do you?"

"No. I think she's fine." Sam looked down at Emily and she did look fine. Her face was puffy from sleeping so hard but her color was good and she looked completely healthy, just asleep, like any other kid taking a nap. "Dad said she wouldn't remember yesterday, so maybe she's on some kind of rewind. He wouldn't have done anything to hurt her."

"I know." Dean turned to dig some clean clothes out of his bag. "I wonder if she'll be, you know, fixed when she wakes up. Like if she'll be able to talk."

"No way to tell, Dean." Sam watched Dean nod, agreeing with him, but hoping that the new and improved almighty John Winchester whammy had repaired Emily's broken spirit as well as her arm. "Look, if she's still out when we get finished with your shoulder, then you can try to wake her up. Okay?"

"Okay." Dean had to pry himself away from the room before disappearing into the shower.

Now it was just Sam and Emily. He looked down at her hand, remembering the sparkling ball of fire that had formed in that tiny palm, the ball of fire that ran a demon out of her host and back to hell for the next ten years. For a few seconds, Sam watched her hand, relaxed and empty, and tried to resist. He couldn't. His pulse quickened as he picked up that limp right hand and placed it flat against his own. It only took one brush of palms for the buzz to travel between them and he pulled away. Emily shifted against the pillow, her brow wrinkling briefly, but she settled once their right hands separated.

Shit.

He'd known it would still be there, but he'd stupidly hoped her curse would be different. _Okay, Dad. What the hell do I do now? _John Winchester had given him his marching orders to take care of Dean and his daughter. Said that Sam knew things that could help them. Well, if there was one thing Sam Winchester knew it was what it was like to have demon blood fuck up his life. He knew what it felt like to be a freak on such a level that it scared the crap out of his own brother. What he didn't know was how to stop it, ever. Sure, he could choose not to power up his stupid demon tricks, but it was still there, itching inside his body and tempting him over and over. But he was an adult, a grown man who knew what he was dealing with when his ability had reared its ugly head. A four year old wasn't going to be able to hold onto those reins and she was born to be hurt, maybe to be hunted by both sides.

How was he going to fix that, for Emily or for Dean? Dad had finally trusted him with Dean and he didn't have a clue how to do the job. Sam could picture his father's face with that sarcastic twist saying, "You got it, kid. Figure it out." _Could have passed on a little more info, Dad. Thanks._

"Is she still asleep?" Dean came out of the bathroom after the world's record shortest shower, wearing his jeans, no shirt, and his body was still half wet.

"Dude, I told you I'd be right here. You had time to dry off." Sam got up from his chair and began to fumble with the first aid kit. "Chill out."

Dean looked slightly embarrassed but recovered to annoyed quickly and set to rubbing himself dry with the towel hanging around his neck.

"Sit down and try not to cry like a girl." Sam focused on examining Dean's wound and pulling out the few tiny fragments of metal that were still in his wounds. The holes had been torn wider so it was easy to get a grip on the broken pellets.

"Girls are tough, asshole," Dean said through gritted teeth. He held himself firm against the tugging but let out a rough grunt as Sam got around to pouring antiseptic into the wound.

"Tougher than you." Same plastered a large square of gauze over the weird pattern of holes. "All done. You'll live."

Dean tugged a clean t-shirt over his head, carefully sliding his wounded arm through the sleeve. He watched Emily sleep from his place across the room for a while before getting up again. "Sam, do you think I should get her checked out by a doctor? I know Dad said she was okay, but—"

At that moment, Emily began to squirm and stretch, dislodging the blanket from her body. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, offended by even the single dim light bulb in the bedside lamp.

"Hey, Cutie Pie." Dean covered the distance in one step, planting himself on the bed beside her and sliding one arm under her back.

The little girl was dazed and disoriented, looking around the strange room and finally focusing on her Dad. He was familiar and she used both hands to climb up into his arms. One of her hands slid under Dean's sleeve to grip his scar. Sam had watched her do that over and over and every time the soothing effect it had on both of them was a powerful thing.

Dean cupped her face with one hand, smiling broadly down into her eyes. "I'm so glad to see those pretty eyes. You've been out for a long time, sleepy head. You feel okay?"

Sam held his breath while Dean stared down into her little face, waiting and hoping for a response.

None came.

Emily merely snuggled up against Dean's chest, silently saying hello. With sadness dimming his smile, Dean hugged her close and said, "You're okay. We're all okay." He pulled her back just a bit, covering his disappointment. "Look who showed up while you were asleep? Uncle Sammy and his dumb cowboy boots."

Sam eased in beside them, making sure to make his connection through his left hand. That seemed to be the safe circuit for him and Emily to touch without setting off some electric shock. "Hey, Em. I missed you."

The little girl was still trying to wake up and stared at him hard, almost afraid. It didn't take a genius to see she was trying to figure out where the hell she was and how she got here. Those big brown eyes were looking up at him, wanting an answer.

Then, she broke out into an enormous smile, genuinely happy and sparkling glad to see him. That smile brought a relief to Sam that he hadn't felt in days.

"Sammy, grab that bottle of water over there." He put it into Dean's hand and he held it up to her mouth, only to have her look annoyed and grab it away to hold herself. "I know, you're no baby. Sorry," Dean said, laughing the whole time.

Emily was gulping down the water and Dean pulled it back to slow her down a little when she noticed her newly healed forearm. That look of fear and confusion returned again and she seemed off balance. For a long time, she twisted her arm back and forth, clearly not understanding why the thing that hurt her so much was no longer there.

Sam kept waiting for Dean to say something, anything to explain it away. He'd always been the cool liar, the one able to think on his feet and weave some web of bullshit just convincing enough to distract you from your doubt. Sam was no stranger to lying, but for most of his life Sam had prized the truth and judged his brother defective because he had such an affinity for lying, an affection for it, even when it wasn't necessary.

Dean kept up his silence, flicking his eyes back and forth between that perfect arm, Emily's growing disturbance, and Sam. He wanted to be bailed out. He didn't want to lie, not to Emily. He was going to commit quite a few lies of omission with his daughter, but he just didn't want to tell her an outright lie. At least, not yet.

Batter up, Sam.

"Dr. Wallace used some great medicine on your arm last time, didn't he?" Sam held her arm gently, running his fingers over the spot where the horrible burn used to be to show her it wouldn't hurt anymore. "While you were asleep, I checked it out and it was gone. No more owie."

"Owie? Are you kidding me?" Dean said, laughing at Sam's attempt at speaking kid. He leaned over into Emily's ear. "He's such a dork boy. Owie. Can you believe that?"

That seemed to satisfy Emily, even though she kept flexing and touching her arm like she knew something big had happened, something as big as the moment her skin was burned away. She took the water bottle back into her hands and started draining it again.

"I'm going to go get us something to eat." Sam got up from the bed, grabbing his wallet and the keys from the nightstand between the beds.

"I think the girl needs a bath, dude." Dean picked her up and started carrying her toward the tub. Before Sam made it out the door, he said, "Meet us in that park across the street. How's that sound, Cutie Pie?"

She was smiling again and shook her head up and down. Even as contented as she seemed, Sam couldn't miss the tight grasp she still had under Dean's sleeve. She wasn't giving up the firm hold she had on the one constant in her life. Emily's exterior scarring was gone but no one could blow away the invisible marks that fire and her mother's gruesome death had left on her, marks left by a demons and humans.

"Come on, kid. We can make a mess and somebody else has to clean it up." Dean was babbling to her, talking about stupid things like how easy it was to put blue food coloring into shampoo to screw around with your little brother's hair but how bad it was when you messed up and made your Dad's hair blue instead. How he was so glad she was awake so they could try out the swings because he really wanted to and he'd look like a weirdo swinging all by himself.

"Sammy! Get pie!" The water started running, drowning out the one sided conversation that was making his long tortured brother so crazy happy.

"Sure." Sam closed the door and went to find pie.

***

Dad had told the truth. Emily didn't seem to remember anything that had happened at the hands of those freaks. Even when she saw that wadded up nightgown that was supposed to be her shroud, she had simply looked at it and looked away. He was still going to burn it, just on principal.

They'd picked up their rhythm exactly where they had dropped it in the diner when Emily had picked pie over that stupid bread pudding. Emily had gone straight to an old style merry go round, jumped on board, and patted the railing as an order to start spinning. Dean had started off slow, scared that she'd lose her balance but daredevil girl wouldn't stand for that long. With a big smile on her face, she had wrapped her fingers tightly around the bars and leaned her head back into the wind. It was a clean kind of happiness, the kind you could have before you'd gotten bloody and dirty over and over again. He'd never be able to feel it again as strongly as Emily did at this moment with her still damp hair swinging around in the wind, but he could get close by seeing it on her face. He couldn't be clean again, but he could be less dirty than before.

The Impala rumbled into the lot behind the swings and before Dean could stop the merry go round from spinning, Emily had jumped off, landing square on her feet, and taken off toward Sam. His daughter being connected with Sam just added to how good he felt at this particular moment. Sam was carrying a large pizza box and a bag, but Emily rushed over to take the bag in her own hands to help. Sam practically had to double over to get close to her but he did and said something that made her grin a mile wide. Dean was going to have to bring up a subject he'd been avoiding but it was only fair to Sam to give him an option. The way Sam and Emily were enjoying each other while they spread out stuff on the picnic table, was making him less nervous about bringing it up.

"Did you get it?" Dean threw one leg over the bench and grabbed the beer Sam pointed at him.

Emily answered his question by pulling out two pie-shaped Styrofoam boxes and sliding one his way. From the looks of it, they were having dessert first. Why the hell not?! Any hunt you walk away from is a good one and deserved a celebration.

Sam didn't like pie and moved on to his pizza. "I told Emily you're a pie stealer and she'd better eat it first before you got your hands on it."

"He's right, Emily. I'm a pie stealer. " Dean made a weak grab for her pie and she jerked it away and put it down on the bench between her and Sam. "Good thing you're faster than Sam. He was always pie deprived and full of pie envy."

"He's got pie issues, Em. It's embarrassing sometimes." Sam wrapped his arm in a circle around her. "Eat quick. I'll guard the perimeter."

"It's just a few months until National Pie Day, Emily. January 23. Better than Christmas." Dean's pie was just a memory now.

"You're making that up."

"Google it, dude. National Pie Day on which we commit random acts of pieness."

Emily's attention to the pie talk faded as she dove into her pizza. For a few minutes, they just sat there in the park, eating pizza, being together. The only thing that would make them stand out from any other family would be the gun stuffed neatly in Dean's belt. Playground or not, he was going to have his damn gun.

"Oh, almost forgot!"

Sam was off his seat and jogging to the car after something. When his brother was out of earshot, Dean leaned over toward the half eaten pizza Sam had dropped on his napkin. "Hey, Emily, hand me Uncle Sammy's pizza."

She looked at the pizza and back at Dean, then raised her eyebrow in a conspiratorial expression that made him proud. Quickly, Emily picked it up and shoved it toward him and we back to her own piece that had little more than crust remaining. Meanwhile, Dean folded the remains of Sam's slice into a wad and crammed it into his mouth. Stealing Sam's pizza required stealth and a big mouth.

It didn't take long for Sam to return and fix his eyes on where his pizza used to be. "Hey? Where's my…never mind." Sam opened up his hand and held out Emily's blue iPod he'd rescued from the ruins of a burned apartment in Austin. "I think this is yours. It's charged up and I got ear buds that are Emily sized."

The little girl grabbed it from his palm, jammed the buds in her ears, and ran her fingers over the touch wheel to find a song and set the volume. For a few seconds, she was lost in her own music, thrilled to have something from her old life salvaged into the new one. When she was satisfied with her settings, she launched herself into Sam's grasp, squeezing a hard thank you around his neck.

"You're welcome, Em."

Emily let go of Sam's neck, slipped off the bench, and wandered a bit away from them, listening and changing songs, head bouncing with the music.

Sam came around to Dean side of the table, easing down beside him to watch Emily wander around in the dimming sunlight.

"It's great that you found that. Thanks," Dean said, taking a long drink from his beer.

"You might not thank me when you see what's on it."

Dean drew in a long, breath. "What?"

"Taylor Swift."

"No way."

"Way. And it gets worse. Hannah Montana. Rascal Flats. Dixie Chicks. Jonas Brothers."

"God, no."

"And the musicals."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Hairspray. High School Musical one, two, and three, and—"

"Stop! I just ate!" Okay, he'd embraced the princess movies because she liked them but the music was going to be another story. Dean watched Emily happily grooving to whatever vile, distasteful tune she was listening to and he shook his head and took another drink. Sam was laughing and it made him wish he'd eaten the rest of his pizza.

"It's not all bad, there's actually some pretty cool stuff on there, too." Sam leaned back across the table to grab his own beer and one more slice of pizza.

"By whose standards?"

"Mine."

"Good God. Flit boys, screeching girls, and emo. Wonderful."

"Yeah, knew you'd be thrilled."

Sam was grinning a mile wide. What an ass. But Emily was happy with her music and he'd just have to deal with it. She was listening and exploring around the edge of the green, looking at some pink flowers sprayed across bushes rimming the park. "Sam, was there a song called 'True Colors' on there."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah. I think it's on a playlist called 'Emily's Night Music.' Why?"

"Calley said it was her favorite song."

"Calley said?" Sam's puzzled look gave way to understanding as he remembered Dean's nighttime visit from Calley's spirit. "Oh."

True Colors. It was one of the three things Calley had been able to tell him about Emily before she moved on. Blue Kool-Aid, princesses, and "True Colors." Things from before Dean that Emily should be able to hang onto now. Maybe she was listening to it now in this strange place with an equally strange daddy she was getting to know.

Dean let the silence go on for a moment or two then decided to stop putting off his talk with Sam. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Shoot."

He cleared his throat as his last means of procrastination. "Now that we've got things settled down, I've got to start thinking about what to do next for Emily. I've got to figure out how to make a home for her."

"What about what Dad said? Samuel's place in Lawrence?"

"Probably worth a try, but that's not what I'm getting at." Dean needed to do this looking at his brother so he could read what Sam really felt instead of just what he said. "My life is about to change and I don't have a clue what that's going to mean. I don't want you to feel like you have to make the same decisions. Just because my life is changing, doesn't mean you have to make the same choices, Sam. I'll understand if you don't want to be part of this."

"So is this the part where you kick the dog following you around so it'll go on back home?" Sam's look was serious, almost hurt.

"No." This was going all wrong, as most of his heart to hearts with Sam went. It was the reason Dean hated potential chick flick moments. They sucked. "Don't get me wrong, there's nothing I'd like better than you backing me up so I don't screw this shit up with her. I just don't want you to feel like you have to do it. I mean, maybe this is your chance to do something else, too. Maybe this is your kick in the ass to get out of this life."

"Maybe it's yours."

"Maybe." Reading Sam was getting harder as he got older. He'd tucked away that bleeding heart he used to have pinned to his sleeve long ago. "Look, all those years ago, I dragged you away from college and Jess now I don't want to be changing your life all over again just to suit me. If it's not for you, I understand."

Sam's look was almost disgusted and he shook his head at Dean like he was an idiot. Turning back toward the playground, toward Emily, Sam said, "Well, that was eloquent, dude, but I think I'll stay. If for nothing else than to hear that kid force you to listen to High School Musical in the Impala."

"Then you're gonna have to stick around forever, bitch, because that's not going to happen."

Sam looked over at his brother and grinned. "Jerk."

Dean grinned back and checked that conversation off his mental to-do list then turned away to find Emily still playing near the edge of the trees. The ear buds were still firmly in place. She'd settled on a song and the wires trailed down into her pocket. Her hands were waving around in the air over her head and at first he thought she was just playing and dancing with the music in her head. Then he noticed the small twinkling lights popping up around the edge of the woods. They floated in the air, drawn into the space over Emily's head, blending into a gleaming mass of light.

The fireflies bunched into an enormous ball, flashing in the air. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny insects glowing and moving in the breeze, responding to the whim of the four year old's fingers. When she swayed her hand to the right, they followed, then back to the left. Up and down, they moved obeying Emily's fingers. If she stretched her arms wide, the ball grew larger. When she moved her hands around in circles, the fireflies rushed to keep up with her direction.

Emily was controlling them, keeping them there to do what she wanted simply by moving her hands.

Dean felt an ice cold fear settle in his chest as he watched Emily's power manifest itself out in the open. This wasn't tied to Amora or her connection to Emily's conception. This was all under Emily's control and Dean couldn't stop the avalanche of disappointment, of terror, that began to rumble through his mind while he watched Emily control a swarm of fireflies and realized what that implied.

"Sam."

"I see it." Sam's voice said it all. He understood what this meant and all the heartache and hardship power like this would mean for Emily. He didn't wait for Dean to try to verbalize his fears. "I think it's the first time she's realized she can control things. The other times were just accidents she didn't connect. Now, she knows."

Emily drew an invisible heart shape with two fingers and the swarm conformed to her will, forming a shimmering heart against the darkened trees.

Dean swallowed down his bone dry throat. "Is it the light or the fire she's controlling?"

"Do you want to hear all of my theories on this, now that I'm seeing it? Now that we saw what happened with the demon?"

"Yeah, Sam. Now's a good time, since she's making her own Light Bright in front of me."

Sam didn't respond to his sharp tone, just launched into his speech like a professor giving a lecture. "I think she can control light and fire, but she can't create it. If it's there and she's in the middle of an intense emotion, she can tap into that somehow. She's really happy right now."

The fireflies began to twirl in two different circles and spin as Emily danced around below them.

"She created it and set Amora on fire, Sam."

"I don't think she created anything. Demons manifest as smoke and where there's smoke—"

"There's fire. God. She drew it out of her and threw it back." Emily had burned the host alive and Amora had fled. She had no idea what the parasitic relationship of hosts and demons meant. All she saw was someone about to kill her Uncle Sammy and her Daddy and she'd killed an innocent human being. She couldn't possibly understand what had happened and it wasn't her fault, not really, but it didn't matter. Someone was still dead. He felt his stomach rising up into his throat.

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice calm and low. "She was terrified and it gave her the strength to do it." Sam fell silent, trying to get his thoughts together before he finished his theory. When he continued, his voice was grim. "I think there's more, more she could have done to the demon."

"Like?"

"Destroy it, not just send it packing."

"Sam, this is a four year old, not some freakin' demon assassin. Do you hear how stupid that sounds?" It was stupid. So Emily had some weird pyrotechnic mojo. So what? That was where it ended. Parents taught kids not to play with matches and this was the same deal.

"Dean, her ability is like any talent, any skill. She has to learn to use it before it reaches potential. Like mine." Sam was talking about Emily's tricks like she'd just discovered she could play piano or decipher blackboards full of calculus. "I had this thing inside me and couldn't expel demons until someone showed me how to do it and I practiced to get the feel of it. If Emily hadn't had the power to kill that demon, she wouldn't have been a threat, like the book said she was. Given the right training, I seriously think she's got the power to kill a demon, Dean, not just expel the thing, kill it. It goes way beyond anything we've ever seen."

"You're wrong, Sam. She can't do that." Sam had to be wrong. Please, God, let him be wrong.

"These are the kinds of accidents that happen when demons experiment with humans. I ought to know."

"Shut up." Accident. Experiment. He didn't want to hear those words ever again.

Dean couldn't stop staring at Emily as she explored her new ability and learned more every second. She could make the lights dim and brighten. He wondered if they were pulsing in time with whatever song played in her tiny ears. He wanted to rush over and pull her hands down to her sides and tell her to cut that shit out and never do it again.

"Dean." Sam's voice was harder than before and it dug into his ear. "Any time now, she's going to turn around and look at you to see how you feel about what she's doing. Don't have that terrified look on your face when she does."

"What?" Dean forced himself to look away from Emily. Sam's expression shook him almost as much as what Emily was doing with her little hands on the edge of the forest. It was like he'd regressed years into the past, back to that day on some back road when his older brother had dropped a bomb into his life by saying, "Dad said I might have to kill you, Sammy."

"Don't let her see that look because it's going to scare her, Dean. Just don't."

Dean fought through the memory of what he'd said to Sam that afternoon all those years ago and tried to stay in the now. "Maybe that's what I should do, Sam. Scare her so bad she'll never do that again and then this may not be a problem." God, he didn't want to do that but if it would keep her safe, keep her from the near disasters that nearly ate Sam alive…

"You know it won't, Dean. You know it." Sam looked back at Emily while she changed the swarm of fireflies into two spinning cyclones. "She's going to have a freak label slapped on her forehead eventually, anyway. Don't let it come from you. It's too hard to take. Don't let it come from you. She's going to have both sides hunt her if it gets out and she can't fight back if she thinks that you think she's a freak. Just don't, please."

That's what he'd done to Sam. His psychic crap. Telling him he'd become less than human. He'd made it twice as hard for Sam to fight back. Dean watched Sam's face, watched him relive those words, watched him see himself in Emily and feel the pain that was coming her way.

Just like Sam predicted, Emily turned toward them and set her bright little eyes on her father. Her smile was timid, as if she couldn't fully commit to being happy until she had his approval. Dean looked at that hopeful, loving face looking to him for support and he forced his mouth into a smile and waved at her. He swallowed his fear and covered the panic and smiled. All of Emily's trepidation melted away and she grinned widely. With a quick flick of her fingers, she scattered the fireflies on their way. As she ran to her father, the tiny lights melted back into the trees.

When she got close enough, Dean scooped her up into his arms and squeezed her tight. He didn't' have a clue how to protect her from this thing that was brewing inside her own body, but he'd have to figure it out. He had to fight it with normal. He had to fight it in a different way than how he'd tried with Sam, so Emily wouldn't wear those same scars he'd left on Sam. He could see all of Sam's scars now as he joined them to lean against the swing set. He wanted to apologize, but words just didn't seem adequate. Dean would have to prove himself to Sam with Emily.

"How 'bout we play until it's too dark to see, Cutie Pie?"

She was still smiling this excited, completely thrilled to be alive smile as he plopped her backside into a swing and started pushing.

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

Firefly – Chapter 30

By – Suz Mc

South Dakota was welcoming, one of the few places on earth that felt like home. The metal arch that marked Singer Auto Salvage always seemed like open arms to Dean. It was a perpetually dusty, rusty place that didn't feel like it was judging them or shocked by anything that Winchesters said or did. If there had ever been a place he and Sam had remotely felt like home, it was here. Pastor Jim's had been close, but there were too many well meaning church people to navigate. Here it was just Bobby and busted up wrecks and moldy books and guns. Dean desperately needed home right now to get his bearings.

Emily was wired, leaning out the window, full of excitement and wonder. She'd been bouncing around the backseat from one window to the other for hours, taking in everything she saw. She was going to like it here, too.

Sam had suggested going back to Ellen's first, but there were too many people coming in and out of the Roadhouse. He'd learned his lesson with Drake and wasn't up to a repeat. All it would take would be one glimpse of Emily doing choreography for fireflies and she'd be on everyone's radar.

Bobby would know what to do. When Sam had called to let Bobby know they were coming, Bobby had said what he always said, "Door's open. Come on up."

"Up, Sam!" Dean reached over to smack Sam on the shoulder as the Impala breezed through the front gate of Bobby's yard. Sam jumped, banged his head against the window then rubbed a hand over his face to wake up.

"We're at Bobby's already?"

"No, I'd thought we go to Vegas and let Emily try the slots. Yes, we're at Bobby's."

Sam stretched and shook his head to wake up, as the car eased to a stop in the middle of a dust cloud beside Bobby's house. The older hunter filled up the doorway in his trucker cap and "Redneck Nation" t-shirt, like he'd been watching his driveway for hours waiting for them. Just seeing Bobby made Dean feel better.

Sam made his way out of the car first and got wrapped up by Bobby. "Boy!" was all he said, slapping Sam on the back, a happy grin breaking the lines of his beard.

Sam coughed, still trying to wake up. "Good to see you, too, Bobby," Sam said, returning the slap.

Dean had barely gotten Emily out of the backseat when Bobby was at his elbow. The excitement on his face was almost sweet, and it was weird to think of Bobby that way.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said, holding Emily's hand and taking his own embrace from Bobby.

"I'm glad you all came here, Son." Bobby looked at him for a long time, that genuine smile still spread over his face. Bobby looked down toward Emily, who was looking a little less adventurous than she'd been a few minutes ago.

"This is Emily, my little girl." It felt good to say it out loud, to introduce her to people as his little girl.

"Well, hello there, Emily." Bobby was looking down at Emily, giving her his good ole boy smile. "These two lunkheads used to call me Uncle Bobby before they got too big for their britches. You can call me that if you want."

Emily was warily eyeing Bobby, her shoulder rubbing up against Dean's torn jeans as the older man knelt down in front of her.

"Bobby, she can't—"

The older man held up his hand to stop Dean from saying anything else. "It's okay. I talked to Ellen already," he said, turning his attention back to the little girl in front of him. "You know what, Lil' Bit?" Bobby's grin was ear to ear and his voice was the soothing, easy tone he'd used with the boys when they were little and passing through the salvage yard years ago. "I got a job that would be perfect for a cute little girl." Pointing a hand over toward his brooding, hulk of a dog, Bobby said, "Rumsfeld, Jr. over there was, uh, keeping time with this high class pooch down the road. When his lady friend had puppies, her owner wasn't too happy that they weren't pure cocker spaniels."

"That monster and a cocker spaniel?" Sam said, shaking his head as he joined them and leaned against the side of the car.

"Looks ain't everything, boy," Bobby said, a proud smile on his face. "Anyway, Emily, now that the pups are big enough to leave their mama, I've got them here waiting for a home." He pointed toward a large box sitting in the shade beside the house. "They're so bored and unhappy they just cry and cry. You think you could play with them a while? Tire 'em out so they'll sleep tonight?"

Emily looked around Bobby toward the box. The sound of nervous puppies yipping drifted over the sides of the box. She anxiously looked from the cardboard box up to her dad, still needing his encouragement before she took action.

"It's okay. Go ahead," Dean said, giving her a soft pat on her back.

That was all the permission she needed and Emily walked over to the box, leaning over cautiously. With the appearance of an interested human being, the puppies went wild, bouncing up and down in the box, each begging to be the one liberated. Emily reached in and snagged one pup, pulling his fat body into her lap as she plopped onto the grass beside Bobby's house.

It was an odd looking little dog with a huge head, floppy ears and silky brown fur. Emily stroked and petted the puppy as it happily crawled all over her, grateful for some attention. The other pups were obviously jealous and rocked the box back and forth, trying to get to the affection sitting right beside them.

The three men watched in silence for a while, before Bobby said, "All the ugly business settled?"

"Yep," Dean answered, watching Emily drag out one more puppy from the box. "For the next ten years, at least. Let's talk about it later."

With a nod, Bobby silently agreed to change the subject. He focused on Emily and lowered his voice just a tad. "Got a phone call from a friend of mine down south. Seems your buddy Drake crossed paths with an old Hoo Doo lady and his deal went bad. Seems she took offense to something he did and sent him on to meet his maker."

"Damn, Bobby," Dean said, thrown off balance by Bobby's newsflash. "Don't get me wrong, I mean, I'm tickled pink to cross Drake's bloody death off my to-do list, but how the hell would you be able to know about Drake and what deals he had going?"

"I know people." Bobby reclined against the car, looking oddly satisfied.

Sam shot a look across Bobby and at Dean that was half "What the hell" and half "I don't want to know."

Dean agreed and didn't follow up.

Bobby went back to smiling in Emily's direction. "Adorable kid. Can't believe you made that." He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "How's that dad stuff going, anyway?"

"Great, so far," Dean said, waving as Emily looked over in his direction.

"In other words, you're scared shitless." Bobby slapped Dean's arm lightly.

After a moment of silence, the younger man answered, "Yes, Bobby. Yes, I am." Why not hang it right out there? Everybody could probably see it anyway.

Bobby took in a long breath, then stepped away from the car so he could look Dean right in the eye. "Want some advice, kid?"

"Why not, Bobby," Dean said, a weariness in his tone. That's what he'd come for anyway. "I know you're probably going to tell me that a hunter's life is no way to raise a kid, right?"

Bobby quickly answered, "No, Dean. You can't change your life," he pointed over toward the little girl, now holding two puppies, "or hers. It is what it is."

"So you're saying we don't have any choices?"

"What I'm saying is that you got the life you got, but you can run it or you can let it run you. John let the life run him. It don't have to be that way." Bobby slid his arm all the way around Dean's shoulders, like a father would. Pointing a finger toward Emily and the three puppies jumping around her, "Some people live their whole lives and never have anything that wonderful. Do whatever you have to do so that you can have a life with her, so she can have a life with you. If your daddy could do it over, I bet he'd do it different. Do it different, Son."

"It's never going to be normal," Dean said, looking over to a still silent Sam, "whatever that is." He was thinking about Emily and what he and Sam had seen her do with the fireflies yesterday. Out here in the daylight, with Emily grabbing for a normal day with a box full of hyped up puppies, wasn't the time to bring it up. He'd ask for Bobby's input later. That was something to discuss late tonight around Bobby's battered kitchen table after Emily was safe in her bed

"Normal is overrated. Shoot for mostly happy. That's good enough."

"Can we stay here for a few days? I need to figure things out. Dad said we should go to Lawrence but--"

"Dad said? As in John?" Now it was Bobby's turn to be off balance.

Sam decided to chime in on that particular subject. "It's a long story, Bobby."

"It always is, Sam," Bobby said, rattling his head back and forth to shake the questions out of his mind for now. "Of course, you can stay here. Long as you want. Already got the place ready for company."  
Bobby was excited, or as excited as it was possible for him to be without knife throwing being involved. "I've got plans for me and Lil Bit over there. Gonna make her a fisherwoman."

"Oh, God, Bobby, not with the fishing again." Dean was rolling his eyes at the memory of Bobby trying to force fishing down their throats as kids.

"You might have liked it if you had more patience and hadn't tried fishing with a .45."

Dean was about to answer when he heard a strange hiccupping sound to his right and jerked his attention back to Emily. Damn it. He'd lost track of her while he talked to Bobby and it took a second or two of searching to find her a few feet away lying in the middle of the dirty driveway. She was flat on her back with six puppies squirming and climbing all over her. At first, he wasn't sure about the sound but then he watched as she wiggled around on the ground, laughing in between gulping breaths of air. The sound of her giggling grew louder and louder, ringing around the yard as her face was licked wet by crazy happy pups. It was loud and free and her laughter kept growing as the puppies tickled away her fear and opened her voice.

"Bobby." Dean's voice broke and he swallowed to get it back under control. "It's the first sound I've heard her make and it's laughing. That's awesome."

Sam stood by his brother, sharing Dean's relief. "Bobby, I think you could fix a rainy day."

"Aw, puppies and kids. It was almost too easy."

Dean watched as Emily rolled around in the dirt, laughing her little ass off, being slobbered on by a litter of puppies and he felt good, hopeful. It was a weird thing to feel, hope. He was wary of hope because it was generally too slippery to hold. Hope was an in the future kind of thing that could let you down and did most of the time. The right now was easier to believe in and Emily's right now was perfect.

Bobby tapped the greasy bill of his cap in response. "She's gettin' filthy. Better go peel off the pups."

He was heading toward Emily's giggling mess of dirt and puppies when Dean reached out to stop him.

"Not yet. I'll clean her up later. Just let her have this a little longer."

The puppies kept jumping. The dust continued swirl around. And Emily kept laughing.

***

She'd fallen asleep standing up. Dean had hauled her out of the tub with her eyes half open, dried her off and put on her nightgown seconds before she keeled over on his shoulder. For the last five hours she'd been going wide open. Puppy chasing. Fishing with Bobby, who was acting like Emily was a fishing prodigy. Climbing on top of wrecks until Dean's arms were sore from yanking her down. She'd laughed out loud over and over with a brilliant sparkling little girl laugh that was irresistible. Dean had hoped the laughing would lead to words, but it hadn't. After all she'd been through, for her to be healthy and running around like a wild child was more than he'd thought possible and he'd take it. He'd even had to hold her in his lap and make her stop long enough to eat and when he tossed her in the tub, he was about to collapse himself. It didn't take any soothing or pep talk to get her into bed, he just stretched her out and covered her up.

Now, he could go downstairs and get into the meat of his problems, starting with what the hell was he going to do about the rest of his life and what to do about a four year old who could control light and fire.

Somewhere in one of those piles of yellowed books, Bobby should be able to find him an answer.

Dean was almost to the stairs when he heard the pounding of two little feet coming up fast behind him.

He turned just in time for Emily to grab hold of his knees.

He should have expected this. It was the fifth bed she'd had in two weeks and it would be stupid to expect her to be comfortable all alone.

"I thought you were asleep, Cutie Pie." He lifted her up, letting her grab hold around his neck. He started walking back toward her room. One more night with her should do it. It was a strange place and she wasn't used to being alone. They'd start that stupid weaning process again tomorrow night. He was too tired to talk to Bobby anyway. Sleep would do them both good and if he went to his room she'd just wake up and follow him. That wouldn't make sense at all.

Dean eased down on the bed, trying not to make too much noise on the squeaky metal bed frame. Emily was almost back to sleep, her breathing easing up against his shoulder as he rested back with her held tightly against him.

The blue iPod was sitting on the bedside table and Sam had given up his own speaker so Emily could listen without the earbuds. Dean had been so distracted he'd forgotten to turn it on. The playlist "Emily's Night Music" jumped out at him as he searched. Calley had to have made that for her, picking out the songs that would make her feel secure and relaxed every night. He tapped it to life and "True Colors" started playing quietly beside them. It wasn't his music but it was Calley's and it was only right that Emily should have it whenever she wanted.

"_You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged. Oh, I realize it's hard to take courage. In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all and the darkness deep inside you can make you feel so small."_

Emily shifted against him and he felt the now familiar coolness of her hand sliding under his sleeve.

"_But I see your true colors shining through. I see your true colors, and that's why I love you."_

At least her scar was gone. That much pain was out of her life. Now he had to work on the rest of it. Sam's deep voice was resonating up from the kitchen and he was probably filling Bobby in on the whole story. Maybe they'd work out a solution and just tell Dean about it in the morning. That would work.

_  
"So don't be afraid, to let them show. Your true colors, your true colors, are beautiful like a rainbow."_

He was closing his eyes when Emily twisted her face toward his and in a soft whisper that was hoarse from disuse, she said, "Night night, Daddy."

The feeling spread warm and strong through him, and he had to pinch his eyes closed to keep it from overflowing.

"Night, Emily."

The End


End file.
